


A Hasty Decision

by i_sawr_the_ghost_of_Harrenhal



Category: Jane Eyre (2011), Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Character Interpretation, Eventual Smut, F/M, Light Angst, Romance, michael fassbender and jamie bell are hot, so that's why jane cannot decide lol, these are mindless musings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 48,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_sawr_the_ghost_of_Harrenhal/pseuds/i_sawr_the_ghost_of_Harrenhal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane accepts St. John's wedding proposal, ignorant of St. John's true feelings and motivations. And Edward finds Jane only too late, freed of his own impediment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable elements of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre are not mine. I hope you don't find reading this a waste of your time. :) Comments are welcome and will be appreciated!

“Could you decide now?” asked the missionary. The inquiry was put in gentle tones; he drew me to him as gently. Oh, that gentleness! how far more potent is it than force! I could resist St. John’s wrath; I grew pliant as a reed under his kindness.

“Yes, St. John. My answer is yes.”

“My prayers are heard!” exclaimed St. John. He pressed his hand firmer on my head, as if he had already claimed all of me; he surrounded me with his arm, almost as if someone else would take me. I had now, like him, put love out of the question, and thought only of duty. For love had once almost led me astray, it is but duty I shall lay my eyes on for now. I will be with St. John.

The house was quiet and the one candle that was burning was almost out. Only the two of us remained in the near-darkness of the passage. His sisters, as well as Hannah, were undoubtedly already resting in their rooms.

After some time had passed, St. John released me from his embrace and clasped both of my hands with his own as he bore into the windows of my soul. I saw his blue eyes burning with sincerity, but not with passion. And as he lowered his lips to mine, I could only close my eyes.

St. John’s kiss was brief but almost warm. It was a strange thing, for I felt no love for him, not one of passion. I could not help myself from reminiscing Thornfield Hall’s master, the master of my affections. The same gentleman whom I had not seen for almost a year, whose love I had cherished once long ago. For a moment, I wondered how Mr. Rochester was doing, where he was. But, just as quickly, I snapped my thoughts back to Moor House, where St. John was staring deep into my eyes.

He led me into the passage and stopped at my chamber’s threshold, still holding my hand, gentle as he was. It seemed he had forgotten how to form his words: his gaze was unwavering and has started to make me quite uneasy. At last, he smiled and kissed me goodnight.

I watched him as he walked away; his rooms were farther down the hall. The only light guiding his path was the stubby candle he held, its wick almost consumed. I saw him stop on his door and steal a glance towards my direction. Dark as it was, I worried whether he noticed the blood rush on my cheeks. I hurriedly entered my room, my nerves confusing my thoughts, my heart throbbing in my ears.

I could not sleep that evening. I could not believe my path had suddenly changed, when only this morning I had been convinced not to give in to St. John’s scheme. I was to become his wife now, and travel to India. My musings strayed to Mr. Rochester once more, and his grand plans of touring Europe in what seemed like ages ago. I dared not think too much of it before, hoping I could somehow bury the wretched memories of his unfortunate deception, but the memories seemed to overflow like a river on a dam after days of continuous rain.

As I lay unmoving in my bed, I feared my somewhat heedless decision was overwhelming me. Marriage! To St. John! I bore him no such love as I did when I accepted Mr. Rochester’s proposal. St. John was a brother and I could not see myself as his wife.

 _Mr. Rochester… Edward…_ I yearned. _Has a wife_ , my conscience continued. Yes, I forget the impediment. I almost always do. I think only of his favorable traits, and overlook his state. He is married, and that was not like to change.

St. John, on the other hand, was a free bachelor and a good man, able and accomplished, tall and fair. There was nothing a lady such as I could not hope to like. But there was no love between us, no passion; despite his conviction that enough of love would follow, I could not see it.

My mind wandered on through the night, darting from Thornfield Hall and Moor House and back again. I envisioned Mr. Rochester arriving in the night, convincing me to leave with him, only to remember Bertha Antoinetta Mason, his own mad wife.

St. John was ever so right. I should have long crushed this lawless passion of a married man. It was him I should wed and later serve God with. St. John was right. But, try as I might, Edward Fairfax Rochester kept lingering in the recesses of my mind.

The sun had been shining its faint rays at the bite of dawn when I realized it was too late for sleep now: Moor House woke early. And so instead, I had decided to dress and take a morning walk down the path, hoping it would calm me. I crept through the old house like a thief in the night, taking great care not to make noise. I did not fancy disturbing anyone’s rest.

When I finally stepped out, a cool morning breeze welcomed me. There was a bite to the air that awakened the senses. Sleeplessness was fast becoming a stupid notion now. If St. John noticed my lack of sleep, he might suspect something amiss and think I have lost conviction overnight. I did lose my conviction after I got to thinking it over, but I had no plans to retract my answer. I do believe St. John would do me more good than bad. And even if I had gone confused, surely he should expect some form of anxiety from me after his evening proposal, should he not? The circumstances warrant it, at the least.

I had been walking aimlessly amidst the grounds, deeply immersed in my own thoughts, when I heard someone call me– “Jane! Jane!” the voice said. I looked around and found myself hoping it might be Mr. Rochester, only it was not. It was St. John.

“What were you thinking, Jane? The day is cold, and the winds are sharp– You’d get a chill,” he scolded, yet softly. It wasn’t long before he was in front of me, his hands reaching for mine. “Let us go back inside or these hands will freeze,” he smiled.

I could only nod in agreement as he wasted no time getting me back inside. _Something is amiss_ , I thought. St. John was kind, yet he was also stern and quite distant. His show of concern, his grasp, his glances – something was amiss, yet I could not fathom what.

When, at last, we had stepped inside the house, St. John bid me to sit across the fireplace and nimbly started the fire. The warmth soothed my freezing hands; I had not noticed they were cold until the fire was lit. The warmth also soothed my nerves somehow.

St. John positioned another chair in the fire and assumed the seat. He quietly warmed his hands as well, while shooting furtive glances towards me. I decided to keep silent, despite the urge of courtesy that I should thank him. I knew he was going to ask me why I went out, and I feared I could not word out a favorable explanation – I did not want him to think me erratic. After his long week of cold stares, I longed for his approbation, and I believed that being fickle would not help me retrieve it.

“My sisters will be along now, Jane,” St. John started, after a while. “I wish to impart to them our engagement.”

 _Engagement... I was engaged to a man once_ , answered my thoughts. “Nothing would please me more,” answered my lips.

He gave me a small smile at that, and I saw his eyes shine. “You have made me happy, Jane,” he confessed. “I had feared you’d had a change of heart.”

“I was uneasy, St. John, but my answer remains the same.”

He only smiled, a calm spreading visibly on his features. The tense on his muscles were gone, his eyes softened and relaxed. He had then returned to quiet, his gaze fixed on the crackling fire.

Moments later, I heard someone bustling in the kitchens and looked to St. John. He stood, acknowledged “Hannah must be awake now”, and strode out of the common room. I moved to follow behind him but he beckoned for me to stay. And so I did.


	2. The Announcement

St. John was quiet during breakfast while Diana and Mary chattered merrily away and hardly noticed. He was, after all, a quiet man. 

A while later, the sisters have decided to visit town. “Would you have us an errand to run while we were there, St. John?” Diana asked when St. John declined to join.

“Parchment and ink, perhaps,” he answered. He was deep in thought and I wondered whether he was soon to make the announcement.

“You’re awfully quiet, brother, as if your thoughts are somewhere far. Is something the bother?” Mary observed.

He smiled his small smile and said, “Nothing’s amiss, sweet sister. Yet there is something I wish to announce–,” he paused, staring directly across me. He seemed momentarily to forget his words…

“Oh, what is it, St. John?” said Diana impatiently. “Don’t leave us hanging!”

He composed himself and looked alternately to his sisters, sitting on both his sides, then he directed his gaze at me as he declared “I have proposed to marry Jane, and she said yes.”

Diana and Mary both turned to me at the same time, excitement robbing them of words. Mary squeaked ecstatically, which somehow revived Diana’s articulate nature. “Oh, what splendid news!” she exclaimed as she moved to lock me in a tight embrace, and when she released me to hug St. John, Mary was there to take her place. Their sincere joy made me at a loss for words, and I could only nod and smile, but they never noticed.

When the giggling died down, Diana wondered if we, St. John and I, had decided on some details: when the wedding was to be held, should there be a gathering for the engagement, when should I be fitted for a wedding dress, was his trip to India no longer in the picture.

“We only need to acquire a license, then get married at the church, Die,” St. John interjected. “A small dinner after should be enough. And later, we shall travel together to India.”

His sisters were evidently disappointed to hear of his unchanged travel plans, but the idea of their brother getting married was too joyous for them to dwell on his future voyage. “But what of her dress?” complained Mary. “We should at least buy something new from the dressmaker, don’t you think so, Jane?” She was looking at me expectantly, and I did not know what to say; I could only smile. To be honest, I didn’t care what to wear. I had a bounty of new dresses after Mr. Rochester proposed to me, and where had it gotten me?

“Oh, there’s no question about it! We are buying you a new dress, Jane!” Diana insisted, as if I had already refused. I turned to St. John imploringly, but he seemed quite distracted, and Diana had already declared, “That’s it. You’re coming with us.”

And that was that. After breakfast, all four of us ventured through the breezy morning in a long walk to the town. St. John had offered me his arm while Diana and Mary had chosen to stroll a few paces behind us. I figured it should have looked awkward if St. John and I did not appear to talk at all, and so I decided to start a conversation. After all, the town was a good two-mile walk, and I couldn’t just “admire” the scenery until we reached it.

“St. John?” I called softly. He was staring ahead, apparently lost in the mire of his own thoughts. I wondered what he was thinking. _It should be a great many things_ , I supposed.

“Hmm?” he muttered just as gently, as he slowly turned his head to see my face. I felt the blood rush on my cheeks once again. His gaze had a way of making me uneasy, and I had to look away. St. John, however, placed his hand on my chin and turned my head to meet his eyes. “You’re blushing, Jane,” he observed. “I must say it becomes you.” He lowered his hand and rested it on top of where my hand was twined in his arm, as if to secure my hold on him. He then smiled and stared towards the town’s direction once again, and I thought I heard faint giggles lost in the breeze. “You called my name?” St. John reminded me. And I almost forgot what I wanted to say.

“I was just wondering when the wedding would be held… and when we are to leave for India.” All I knew, after all, was that I was going to be married, and that we were now off to buy me a wedding dress.

“We can marry tomorrow,” he said matter-of-factly. “Once we acquire a license today, we can. Does that seem too soon for you?” he added when he noticed my reaction.

I didn’t know how to answer. Did it seem too soon for me? Why, yes! It wouldn’t even be a two-day engagement! And yet I knew that our circumstances were far from ordinary, and so my words caught in my throat.

He merely chuckled at my silence; apparently the look on my face was amusing. “I had planned to leave for India in six weeks’ time, but I can always arrange our trip on a later date, if that is what you wish.”

“No,” I refused. “There is no need of unnecessary delay, not for my sake.” I knew he had quite some difficulty finding himself a suitable vessel, and who is to know when another ship might be. We had to board that vessel if we were to reach India before I had time to change my fickle mind.

“Tomorrow then?” he pressed, watching for my reaction. However, this time I knew he was looking, and so I had mustered enough control to show no apprehension, despite the growing anxiety eating on my stomach. And to no avail, apparently, for St. John only laughed again. “You should see the look on your face, Jane. It’s as if someone knocked the wind out of you.”

“I-I’m sorry, St. John. It’s just… I –,” I stuttered.

“You need not worry. We have six weeks.” He sounded agreeable, and yet his eyes have turned blank into the horizon.


	3. Invitations and Perplexities

The wedding dress arrived after two weeks. Diana wanted the elaborately embroidered white silk gown on the dressmaker’s display, but I managed to convince her to purchase a much simpler dress instead. Its bodice was of linen overlaid with a delicate white lace, the skirt and sleeves quite plain with a healthy dash of subtle embroidery, at Diana’s insistence. It was very pretty despite its minimalism, a treat for anyone’s eyes.

St. John and I acquired the license from the town church the very same day, and so with the arrival of the dress, we could already marry as soon as this evening. Or so if the bridegroom were actually with me, as Mary had mentioned last night. St. John had chosen to travel to Cambridge just three days after we went to town, you see, to say his farewells to some of his good friends, a task that he had put off for more than a week to convince me to marry him.

The first few days of my engagement were pretty much the same as ordinary, only with Diana and Mary being much more enthusiastic than they normally were, and with St. John engaging me to afternoon walks and more exchanges than usual. The wedding and travel plans had been immediately consolidated the day after we went to town: St. John and I will wed as soon as he arrives from Cambridge a week from now, a small banquet will be arranged at Moor House in honor of the occasion, and St. John and I shall journey on to board our ship to India three weeks hence (he had corresponded with the ship’s captain regarding our impending marriage and the obvious necessity of accommodation for two, with which he was readily afforded).

News of our engagement was common knowledge in Morton a week after we had gone to purchase the dress. After all, both of us had known quite a number of the townspeople, more so for St. John as he had been part of the clergy.

In one of my visits to the school, I had been surprised to find that my students have together prepared me a gift—a beautiful wreath. I taught them to paint that day and asked them to read out some passages, and before I knew it, the day was done. I lingered long enough to help the new schoolmistress clean up the room, and when I have congratulated her good progress with the students and her my engagement, I had set off to walk back home, carrying the wreath with both hands, only to find Ms. Rosamond Oliver awaiting my departure on the steps outside.

Rosamond was, of course, engaged to a certain Mr. Granby, a wealthy young man. St. John had conveyed that bit of news to us after Mr. Oliver had told him. She looked very pretty in her lilac dress and flowery bonnet although I could not seem to recognize the typical way her eyes would sparkle when she smiled.

“I have heard news of your engagement, Ms. Jane. I thought I’d come down here to congratulate you,” she said quite meekly. I, of course, knew that she had once nursed affections for St. John, and thus it felt quite discomforting to have her talk about our engagement. I thanked her, nonetheless, inadvertently shifting my grasp on the bulky wreath. She looked down and admired the arrangement quite longingly and held her hand out to reach it.

“What a magnificent wreath, Ms. Jane. Your students have sure been busy creating this the past couple days,” she said, seemingly lost in admiration. “It’s a beautiful afternoon, don’t you think, Ms. Jane? May I walk with you?” she added after a while.

“I’d love to, Ms. Rosamond.” And so we traipsed quietly on to the path. In all honesty, I had not an inkling of which subject I might comfortably bring up to a conversation with her--I worried we were too different from each other--and so the silence between us had grown more intimidating the farther we went.

Courtesy demanded me to start a conversation with Ms. Rosamond, but I simply could not utter a single word. After a while, the silence grew too unbearable, I was almost willing to just grunt in order to have something to talk about. Thankfully, it did not have to come to that.

“I understand you are to be married soon, Ms. Jane. Sooner than I am, I gather,” Rosamond declared, a small smile forming on her lips as she looked at me. Was she amused? I couldn’t tell.

“Yes,” I affirmed, still perplexed concerning her seemingly amused look. What was amusing? Was it my embarrassed silence or my abrupt engagement?

“Forgive my intrusion, Ms. Jane, but why so soon?” She stopped in her tracks, putting a courteous tone in her inquiry.

I did not exactly believe that I had to explain anything to her, but, as we continued our stroll, I found myself explaining St. John’s plans all the same. She seemed struck with utter surprise to discover how serious St. John’s missionary plans were and that we were leaving town so soon, but she managed to recover from astonishment quickly enough. Soon, the subject was adeptly changed to one regarding her wedding arrangements.

“I consider having to get married in about a month quite challenging for the nerves, Ms. Jane. And yet here you are, not a mere couple weeks before yours, and you seem so calm about it,” she observed.

“I do have my reservations, Ms. Rosamond, but I think, considering all, it might just be that I was engaged not too long ago and I haven’t had time enough to reflect on such things that might give me anxiety.”

“Perhaps,” she seconded, as she wistfully stared out into the moors. We were soon to part ways, I knew; we were nearing the outskirts of town. “I sincerely hope the two of you would still be in town on my wedding day, Ms. Jane, as I would like to invite you and his sisters to Vale Hall. My father plans to throw an extravagant wedding party.” She looked directly into my eyes and added, “I sure would hate to hear no for an answer, Ms. Jane. Not if you’d still be in town then.”

I had to say yes, and oh, how gleeful did Ms. Rosamond look, her eyes glittering as she smiled her beautiful smile. She was still beaming when she bid me goodbye. Once on my own, able to ponder on my thoughts, I became worried of what St. John might think of it. I had put the two of us in a commitment before we were even married! Somehow, I feared St. John’s disapproval, and could not think of anything else as I followed the path back to Moor House.

I conveyed Ms. Rosamond’s wedding invitation to Mary and Diana over supper, and they seemed pleased about it, with Diana declaring she would make certain St. John and I would be around to attend the merriments. After Mary voiced her concerns about St. John’s probable response to this, they both seemed momentarily bothered, but then decided that it shouldn’t cause any serious matter in mere minutes later.

“It’s only one evening, after all,” Mary concluded. It did not put me entirely at ease, but the sisters’ calm was enough to make myself forget about my own worries.

I went about the succeeding days as usual, growing more anxious as St. John’s arrival—my wedding, as well—came near. I tried desperately to bury my budding disquiet as I watched Mary hem the French lace that was to be my veil and as I helped Diana and Hannah make preparations for the wedding banquet.

The days seemed shorter, and alas, St. John had arrived, accompanied by a couple of his friends from Cambridge whom he introduced as William Keller and George McAvoy, two young gentlemen of good nature and pleasant company.

They arrived just in time for supper, at which Diana felt it her duty to tell St. John of Rosamond’s wedding invitation. He seemed taken aback upon hearing the news, but was also quick enough to hide it that I doubted whether he was surprised at all. He seemed nonchalant about the prospect of attending Rosamond’s wedding that I was finally relieved of my previous worries. The chatter continued on as we dined.

As we finished supper, St. John charged Hannah to lead the guests to their rooms, “as they are surely exhausted from the journey”, and bid me to walk with him before we turned to sleep as well.

The night was cool and calm as we paced quietly for a while. “I am glad you arrived safely tonight, St. John.”

“Aye,” he quietly said as he took my hand into his. He squeezed it gently when he saw my surprise, and did not let go. “I have to say I counted the days to tomorrow, Jane.” He looked down at me and smiled. I was at a loss for words, and my silence only made him smile more.

A minute later, he was leading me back inside. “I do not wish my bride to catch a chill for her wedding day,” he softly teased. It seems his journey to Cambridge made him forget his severity, I thought, and I could only smile in response.

He led me to the passage once again, still holding my hand, and paused right in front of my bedroom door. “Goodnight, dear Jane,” he whispered as he leaned in to give me a chaste kiss on the lips. He searched my face as he drew away, and once again, I could only smile, although I found it difficult to meet his searching eyes. He took a deep breath, smiled once again, nodded, and then continued on towards his room. I hastily retreated to my chamber, perplexed with every single word that St. John had uttered.


	4. An Early Morning

I woke up at the crack of dawn, restless and full of nerves. Today was my wedding day and the anxiety seemed to pour on me like a sudden storm on a clear day. 

 _I am getting married today._ It seemed as though only yesterday when I woke up on another wedding day on a different dawn, calm and assured that nothing was about to go wrong. Oh, how gravely was I mistaken then to imagine a certain Mrs. Rochester to assume Jane Eyre’s shoes. _There was already a Mrs. Rochester,_ I could feel my thoughts smirk at me.

I found sleep difficult to come by last night; St. John’s words proved to be as baffling as they were ridiculously simple. It had seemed that he had transformed into an oddly lighthearted version of himself during his travel to Cambridge and back.

You see, St. John was a man of very few words—and when he speaks, it is ever to the point, _always_. But last night was different. He was definitely more engaging than usual, even after considering the fact that he had two of his old friends as guests. He was more articulate and had joined in the conversations more often than he was quiet. And yet, that was not what brought me to thinking that he was indeed acting peculiar. He invited me to take an evening walk, which, honestly, was not entirely strange on its own; he had done the same during the first few days of our engagement. It was when he held my hand that I knew something was different, and that he had mentioned he “counted the days to today”.

He had never held my hand the way he did last night. His hold had always only lingered a short time, and last night, he held my hands until he escorted me back to my chamber. He had always held my hand the same way a parent led a child—palms together—and last night… he found the gaps between my fingers and laced his own between them… all the while acting as though it was the most natural thing to do at the time. _And yes, it was, Jane. He is your betrothed,_ my thoughts reminded me.

He called me _his bride_ last night, too. And in a short time, I _shall_ be his. That was enough to shake my nerves anew. It took me some time to decide that every little thing I had dwelled on was only too trivial to lose sleep over; and yet, it had been close to midnight before I finally was able to rest my eyes.

There were no dreams, but I was restless all the same. My nerves were too raw that the rustling of the leaves woke me and made me sit up from my bed, stare at the hangings and wonder if everything was real. I turned to the dresser and saw the white lace that was to be my veil, beautifully hemmed and ostentatiously whole, draped delicately towards the chair. _I had a veil before, too…,_ I found myself reminiscing. _Ripped in half by a madwoman,_ my thoughts pressed on.

I walked towards the dresser and reached for the lace, wondering whether it might fade into smoke as I touched it. It didn’t. I went back to bed, thinking to acquire a bit more sleep, but my eyes were already wide awake, and I could only lie in bed unmoving for so long. I got up once again, dressed myself, and decided to creep down to the kitchen to find myself something to nibble my nerves away.

It was still dark and so I held a candle to light my way, relieved to pass through the hall quietly enough. The sleeping guests could use another hour of rest without my waking them up. I slithered into the kitchen, taking a cup and a kettle, keen on sipping an early morning tea. I lit myself a fire, both to keep warm and to boil myself some water, blew out the candle, and then pilfered some stale biscuits from last night’s supper and chewed on them slowly, quietly, until the water began to boil. I sat on the edge of the table ( _quite unladylike of me_ , I scolded myself) and began to make myself tea. I alternately sipped on my cup and nibbled on a biscuit, peacefully watching as the sun crept up at the tiny square of the kitchen window. Oddly enough, the rising sun calmed my previously raw nerves. “Today is my wedding day,” I murmured, almost unbelievingly. I heard someone clear their throat behind me, announcing their presence. I turned to look.

“Good morning, Ms. Eyre,” a smiling gentleman greeted my gaze. I jumped off the table feigning nonchalance and trying to be graceful enough.

“Please, call me Jane, Mr. Keller. And a good morning to you, too. I hope you slept well,” I smiled back. He and Mr. McAvoy travelled far to be St. John’s groomsmen today. _They must have been very good friends,_ I imagined. Their cheerful, light-hearted banter last night could attest to that. I had never seen St. John so carefree.

“Aye, slept well, I did. And please, I’d rather you called me Will,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling. “Mr. Keller’s my father.”

I smiled, yet again, as I offered him tea and he accepted. I observed him furtively as I poured the beverage onto another cup. His hair was a dark hue, his eyes pale and shining with delight. His smiles were infectious enough to anyone and he was too relaxed and warm that I somehow doubted if he were really a friend of St. John’s. They were opposites, I believed. _Until last night,_ my thoughts crooned. The two gentlemen somehow made St. John forget his stern and cold civility, and made him laugh and talk. _His eyes sparkled when he laughed,_ I recalled my betrothed with surprising fondness. _St. John is a different man amongst his friends, and I liked that man,_ I concluded.

He thanked me as he took the cup from my hands. He sipped and then smiled widely at me. “It seems St. John is helplessly smitten with your charms, Jane. I have to say I had never seen him like that, and I’d known him for years,” he mentioned casually, his smile never leaving his eyes as he piqued my curiosity. Smitten? Surely I heard wrong?

Will laughed softly at my puzzled look, shaking his head. “Please excuse my humble observations, Ms. Jane. As St. John loves to point out, they are usually unfounded.”

I blinked twice in confusion. “Forgive me, Will, but what are you trying to tell me?”

He shrugged. “Just take care of him. We like him this way,” he said meaningfully, staring directly into my eyes one second and walking towards the window another. The early morning sun was already shining. “It’s a beautiful day for a wedding. My best wishes, Ms. Jane,” he smiled as he walked across the kitchen, and out the door. “I should be getting ready,” he smiled again, leaving me utterly perplexed.

This man is strange enough to be St. John’s friend, after all. What was he referring to when he said “we like him this way”? Did that mean St. John was never like this with them? And here I was, pinning this recent change on the presence of his friends! Moreover, how could he say St. John was “smitten with my charms”? _Surely, you heard it wrong, Jane,_ my thoughts quipped, and I agreed. William Keller only provided me with a fresh stream of unanswerable questions. It was wearisome.

I sighed. The fleeting calm of the morning sun had dwindled fast. My nerves were raw once again as I realized how little I knew about the man I was marrying. _Today,_ my thoughts stressed, as if I had already forgotten. I decided to retreat into my chambers once again. And so I quietly did.

Once inside, I took out the wedding dress from my modest wardrobe, and reveled at its simple beauty. I stared at it longingly, consciously stifling unwanted memories as I waited for Diana and Mary. Diana had reminded me endlessly that she wanted to be the one to dress me on my wedding day, and I had to indulge them both. They were so keen about it. _My bridesmaids._ My thoughts were unwillingly brought back to a previous bridal day, one where I had no bridesmaids, only a bridegroom in haste. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. _I should think of him no more._

I heard a gentle knock. “Come in,” I said softly, but loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door. It was Diana and Mary, already dressed in their finer garments, but wearing soft slippers on their dainty feet. They worried they might wake anyone up with their footsteps, but I was almost sure their giggling would do the trick. I couldn’t help but smile.

Diana entered first, followed by Mary, who closed the door softly behind her. “Oh, I am so happy for you, Jane!” Diana exclaimed, her voice restrained. “Now, let’s get you into your wonderful dress, shall we?” She was beaming with excitement.

“Good morning to you, too, Die,” I teased. I found St. John’s sisters had a way of soothing my nerves, despite their current bustling to get me dressed. _I hope we get ready on time,_ I thought. I disliked the idea of having St. John to wait. _But you made_ him _wait last time, didn’t you?_ my mind mocked me. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts once again. He shouldn’t invade my thoughts now.

Moments later, I found myself being shoved towards the mirror, fully dressed in white, my hair in a braided bun. “Oh, you look so beautiful, Jane!” Mary exclaimed, the lace still resting delicately on her hands. “Here, let’s put this on and make you the stunning bride that you are.” She fastened the veil gently, and let it fall before my face. _There’s St. John’s bride,_ I thought as I stared at my reflection. Numerous memories flooded me in flashes as my thoughts seemed to riot within. _You were Rochester’s!_ my thoughts cried out in anguish. I gasped as the thoughts overwhelm me, and I braced myself to remain upright. I sighed in relief—I had almost fallen on the ground. _This will be a long day,_ I concluded, as Mary and Diana held onto me, concern written all over their faces.


	5. Wedding Vows

The coachman had just arrived; I could hear the chink of the coach’s wheels and reins. It was a gift from St. John’s Cambridge friends—they couldn’t all come, and so they had paid to rent a coach. I was waiting for Diana to come fetch me in my bedroom. She wanted a “grand entrance for the bride”, and I thought it would not hurt if I indulged her. They were definitely concerned earlier when I almost fainted, but I managed to convince them that I only lost my footing, as ridiculous as it may sound. In their excitement, they accepted my explanation quite quickly, which in turn made me sigh in relief. I would not have wanted any more bustling around me. 

I heard Diana’s footsteps as they grew louder and stopped. There was an excited rap on the wood as the door was pushed open, and I saw Diana’s beaming face. “It’s time,” she said with a wide smile. Mary was right behind her, grinning to me as well. I had to smile back, despite the anxiety that was gripping me.

My insides were squirming as I stepped towards my bridesmaids. Mary held my hand and murmured “You have my best wishes” before letting it go. They both smiled at me and led the way as I brought the rear, willing myself to relinquish any thought of Mr. Rochester. _I am marrying St. John. Not Edward._

The sisters led me into the drawing room, where St. John and his groomsmen were waiting. Will was sitting beside the window, staring out into the moors with George standing beside him. St. John had his back facing the doorway, quietly looking out where the coach was waiting. St. John’s friends, unlike him, immediately noticed the three of us enter. George straightened his stance as Will stood from his seat, their eyes smiling at us. Hearing the slight commotion, St. John looked towards our direction, his blue eyes instantly falling on mine. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks as I watched his lips form into a smile. He looked magnificent in his double-breasted vest, cravat, and coat.

Mary and Diana were still in front of me as we entered the room, and I thought I saw… admiration… on St. John’s eyes when his sisters moved to reveal my entire frame (I was almost obscured by their skirts). I remembered what Will told me early this morning and I thanked the French lace safely concealing my face; I was blushing ridiculously.

St. John strode towards me and offered me his arm. “You look beautiful, Jane,” he murmured gently, almost to himself. I returned the compliment quite as meekly. In my mind, I could not help but notice his stark difference with Mr. Rochester then. St. John was serene and at ease, an entire opposite of impatient Edward on that fateful day. _There’s no reason for him to be agitated, Jane,_ my thoughts mocked as they admonished my observation.

He led me out and into the coach, my bridesmaids following suit, each taking a seat beside me. After the women were settled, St. John climbed in, closely followed by his groomsmen. The men sat across the three of us, but the coach remained surprisingly comfortable. I heard the horses neigh as we lurched to a start, heading for Morton.

The sisters were giggling with excitement, each clasping my hands as Will and George engaged them into a seemingly interesting conversation. St. John, on the other hand, appeared to have resumed his old self, quiet yet serene. He was looking at me too intently. And Will’s words kept echoing through my mind. Did I hear it right? He can’t be… _smitten_ … can he? I felt my face flush, and again thanked the lace that concealed it. _Why does he keep staring at me like that?_

I tried to listen in the others’ conversations but I could not make out anything. St. John’s eyes had not left my direction since we started for Morton; I could sense the intensity of his stare, and I saw him from the corner of my eyes. I wondered whether he knew that I noticed. I knew I had a veil but somehow, the lace does not comfort me this time. It felt as if his eyes bore deep into my soul.

In what felt like an eternity later, the coach halted. I saw the church glowering ahead of us. It was much smaller than the one in Thornfield; yet it seemed too intimidating all the same. At an unwelcome thought, I glanced towards the direction of the graveyard. _No. No one’s there._ I sighed, not knowing if it was in regret or relief. _There will be a wedding today._

St. John’s fellow clergyman and the church clerk welcomed us at the door. Will and George led our small entourage within the humble grey building while St. John held my hand as we walked, squeezing it gently. His hands were warm, his eyes curiously soft. He felt different; the iciness that normally surrounded his presence has palpably disappeared.

The service began. St. John maintained his piercing gaze as we faced each other. I heard the clergyman charge the confession of impediments. A pause. I held my breath, fearing for a moment. I thought of the other time when I foolishly thought that this pause was close to improbable to be broken by a reply. _Oh, how wrong I was to think that!_ My eyes darted towards the door, expecting someone to come bursting in with evidence of an “insuperable impediment” or perhaps a certain gentleman rushing in to stop the wedding, but the clergyman had already proceeded with the ceremony, and I heaved an audible sigh of relief. St. John furrowed his brows, his eyes piercing with curiosity, but remained silent as the clergyman went on.

His hand stretched towards St. John, the clergyman asked, “Wilt thou have this woman for thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s Ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will,” St. John declared without delay and with full conviction.

Satisfied, the minister turned to me. “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s Ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

I opened my mouth to answer, yet nothing came out. My voice caught in my throat. St. John was looking at me softly, waiting for my response. I stared dumbly across him as my miserable silence dragged on. The minister was waiting patiently for me to answer, but I could not. I was horrified. I gave St. John my word. I accepted his proposal. Why can’t I say the words? _They are only two words, Jane. Say it,_ my thoughts urged on. I saw St. John purse his lips, his body frozen into place. His jaw was tensed, yet his eyes were blazing fire. His gaze burned me as I stood wordlessly before him. I thought my knees would give out. _No…_

One of the sisters muffled a gasp, recognizing my indecision, yet I had not dared to look which one it was. St. John was holding me in his gaze, almost as if urging me to speak. I heard the minister repeat the query as I tried to calm my internal chaos. And this time, I succeeded. I took a deep breath and willed myself to croak “I will” loud enough for the clergyman to hear. I ignored a collective sigh of relief from behind me as the minister proceeded with the vows, failing to disguise a huff of relief himself. I only looked to St. John’s eyes. Somehow, his piercing stare gave me enough strength.

St. John repeated his vows firmly, still holding me to his gaze, as though none of my hesitation ever occurred. His blue eyes locked on mine when the minister turned towards me for my vows, willing me to speak. And by some miracle, my voice emerged whole.

Rings were exchanged, papers signed, and the ceremony was soon over. I was frozen in place when the minister motioned for us to seal the marriage with a kiss, but St. John was swift enough to take both my hands in his, pull me close, lift the delicate lace covering my face, and bend over to brush his lips against mine. He lingered long enough, and I felt his lips curl into a small smile before he let go. And that was it. I was married to this man. There was no turning back.

Everything after that was a blur. I remember the clergyman taking off his surplice and shaking St. John’s hand, murmuring congratulations. My bridesmaids—now my sisters-in-law—gushed and embraced and kissed me earnestly, leaving me feeling disheveled and, for lack of an accurately descriptive word, attacked. The groomsmen were much more gentle, shaking my hands eagerly but not going beyond that, which was relieving, honestly. I figured their elation was directed more to St. John who received quite an entertaining sort of roughhousing from his friends. My initial hesitation seemed to have gone, for the time being, completely forgotten.

After the quick celebration, I found myself back inside the coach, this time alone with St. John. Will, George, Mary, and Diana, as I gathered, have plotted to charter a second carriage for the trip back to Moor House. I only watched with utter disbelief as they giddily left us on our own. The coach had become roomier a thousand-fold, and yet I sat too close to my husband—or my husband sat too close to me—his hand clasping mine untiringly. He seemed distracted, his usually stony façade gone, and that faint smirk never left his lips.

I watched the window as we passed through the moors, forcing my mind to recognize this life-changing event as my thoughts whirled into disarray. I reminded myself that this was my decision, that no one forced me to do this. And yet I could not help but feel that St. John was partly to blame. I had long desired to marry for passion rather than duty, and that path was taken from me unexpectedly. St. John had reminded me of that desire’s inevitable lawlessness, its offensive nature, had pushed duty and service unto me, and I obliged in the end. _You obliged, Jane. You agreed. You said the words. You took the vows,_ my thoughts prompted scornfully. I knew I should accept the honor of being St. John’s wife unreservedly. He has given me a unique opportunity to serve God with him. But deep within my heart, I longed for passion… I longed for Edward Fairfax Rochester.

I was distracted from my thoughts as St. John grasped my chin to turn my face towards his. Searching my eyes, he asked, “What bothers your thoughts, dear Jane?” I could not answer. His gaze was piercing through my very core, and I feared he would glimpse the racket going on inside me. It took all of my efforts to shake my head a fraction to convey that nothing was amiss. He seemed unconvinced, narrowing his eyes minutely, but decided to take my word—rather, my action—for it. His kiss came as a surprise. It was gentle, warm, soft, and almost… loving. He lingered long, as though he was searching for something, and I could only close my eyes. I was shocked, rooted on the spot. After a while, he sighed, looked into me, resumed his seat, and freed me. Unbidden, guilt gnawed at my insides, my thoughts reproaching my actions. _You are his wife!_ my mind screeched. I found myself reaching for his hand, and as I clasped it, his faint smile had returned, and my guilt was appeased.


	6. Amongst Equals

The ride back home proceeded at a leisurely pace; the sight of the seemingly endless moors and the rock and sway of the carriage nearly lulled me to sleep. St. John would speak to me every now and then, sharing bits of his stories with “one of the big boulders there by that tree”, or “that patch of grass”, or “there beyond that hill” as we ran past. His tales extended from his childhood to his missionary work. His eyes would swim in both loneliness and joy when he mentioned his father; I imagined he missed him so. When the stories touched on his ministry, his blue eyes would light up with passion. I believed he was most looking forward to serving God in India—his grand spiritual gesture; he was too dedicated, this I already knew. And I could only hope to equal his fervor.

It was already past noon when we arrived at Moor House; just in time for the predetermined picnic lunch by the river (the wedding banquet would be later this evening). The second carriage was trailing a good distance behind us. The place looked the same as I first laid eyes on it the night I decided to call myself Jane Elliott—low rough stone walls, prickly hedges, wicket fences, latticed windows, and an ivy-crept façade—but it was also different. I left this house as poor Jane Elliott; I returned as wealthy Jane Eyre; and now I had arrived with a different name yet again— _Mrs. St. John Rivers._

The sun was shining bright, its beams welcome on my pale skin. The wind was cool and gentle, calming my swelling turmoil, kissing the hem of my skirts. St. John alighted from the carriage first and then held out a hand to help me down. He was a marvelous sight: his back stood straight as an arrow, his shoulders square and strong, his eyes mirroring the clear blue skies, and his hair swaying carelessly in the soft breeze. I was careful not to trip—I did not want to ruin a perfectly lovely dress—but as my feet endeavored to touch the ground, I found myself staring at them up in the air. I squealed in surprise and St. John merely chuckled at the unladylike noise. He had effortlessly, and quite literally, swept me off my feet; I could only hold onto his neck for fear of falling as he took long strides towards the house, his strong arms cradling my small frame. I could hear hearty laughs and loud giggles from behind us and figured our groomsmen and bridesmaids must have been amused by this silly spectacle.

“There’s no need to be restless, dear Jane,” St. John murmured, his eyes smiling. “I only wish to carry my innocent wife over the threshold.” I did not even want to know how red my face flushed at the sound of St. John calling me _his wife._ I had expected to squirm upon hearing it, yet it had felt strangely welcome. “Blushing truly becomes you, my dear Jane. I’ve told you this before, have I not?” he chuckled.

I could not utter a word. I was too embarrassed, and I firmly believed my face could not possibly grow any redder. I was determined to look anywhere but St. John’s amused blue eyes so I had fixed my gaze upon the ceiling. I watched as we crossed the threshold—one moment it was the wooden beam above the doorjamb that was in my field of vision, the next it was St. John looking over me.

Alas, another kiss. His lips felt warm and smooth against mine, this time reluctant and flickering. It was gentle—too gentle—as if it was a sleeping newborn he had been kissing, afraid that it might awaken. My earlier response must have influenced this sudden change of fashion, and I found I did not appreciate it at all. Deep within my core, I felt a small spark start like a flint desperate to catch fire, and before I knew it, I was kissing St. John back, throwing my worries in reckless abandon. My deep-seated reservations had all but faded away. I lost myself in his arms, melting away in his rekindled lips, searching, burning me... Oh, what power did this simple deed have on me! I could not even begin to comprehend my own thoughts. My mind was blank and full to the brim at the same time.

I reluctantly let him go when he pulled away, staring at his handsome features as he smiled that small smile. He tenderly put me down on my now unsteady feet, his hands claiming my waist before my knees could give out. He gazed unto me intently; his blue eyes bright pools of sincerity and longing. He pulled me close, and I found myself hoping he would kiss me once again. He did, and I was lost.

We were both breathless when a creak of the wooden floorboard caused us to pull away, his eyes never leaving mine. “Oh, what you do to me, dear Jane,” he breathed, his blue eyes strangely hooded and glazed. He maintained his hold on my waist and swiftly pecked the top of my head before searching for the source of the disturbance. I blushed to see Hannah decidedly looking everywhere but our direction, tightly clutching two picnic baskets for our party. I vaguely wondered how much Hannah had witnessed, but decided against answering my own query. St. John’s words had already riled up my mind’s machinery enough.

The rest of our entourage had filed inside the hall just then, every single one looking merrily excited. The sisters instantaneously spied the picnic baskets and went past me and St. John to grab them from Hannah’s hands. I felt St. John tighten his grasp around my waist as Diana rushed past me; I was far from falling over, but I oddly appreciated this protective gesture. I gazed up at him furtively and found him looking down on me delicately, those bright blue orbs filled with a thousand unspoken words. I glanced behind us, ridiculously embarrassed that St. John caught my eyes, only to find Will’s encouraging stare.

“We should go, St. John! I am well beyond famished,” George teased, screwing up his countenance to feign hunger, gathering giggles from the sisters.

St. John only shook his head in amused tolerance, his smirk widening once more. “We should,” he agreed. I was oddly aware as my spirits dampened when he momentarily released his grasp on my waist, and was only consoled as his fingers interlaced between mine, gently tugging me as we proceeded through the passage, down a couple steps, past the kitchens, and out through the backdoor into the grassy banks.

The river was gurgling calmly, its waters shimmering in the sun. It was a beautiful sight but I found St. John more admirable as he stood within my reach. He glanced at me and cocked his head to the side. I could not discern whether he was questioning my gaze or just inviting me to find us the perfect picnic ground. I decided to believe the latter, and so I pulled him towards my favorite spot by the shadows of an old yew tree as the others trailed behind us. It was not long until the men had set up two picnic blankets and we could all settle down and take out the lavish lunch Hannah had prepared.

Our small group erupted in light banter as we enjoyed small slices of roast beef and potatoes, bread and cheese, pasties, sweet sherry trifle, and port wine. The meal was more than filling, and for a moment I felt content in the company of my equals. Everyone had smiles on their faces, teasing and telling stories. I had almost forgotten that this was a celebration of my marriage.

St. John never left my side, holding my hand as much as he could, at times even pulling me closer almost reflexively. More than a few times, I would catch Will’s knowing glances towards me, a faint shadow of a smirk grazing his features every time which reminded me of his early morning riddles. When the meal was done, we all decided to walk about the bank for entertainment. No one was inclined to go back inside just yet; it was still too early, and the day was too alluring. The sisters spied different kinds of insects flying about reed after reed, and screwed up their faces in an effort to remember their names, while the gentlemen splashed their bare feet on the shallows, inviting the girls to join in. I was content to watch them at a safe distance—the white of my dress would not be safe by the river banks.

We all went back inside after a couple of hours, keen on sipping some refreshments. We had a few more hours to kill before the evening guests arrived for the wedding banquet. The kitchen was now bustling with the two additional servants we had hired for tonight’s gathering. It was a stroke of luck that I had taken on redecorating the house as soon as I had returned after receiving my inheritance; we did not have to hire helpers for that tonight, only kitchen aide and dinner service. Everything was running smoothly.

I had decided to pass the time in the common room, picking up a novel to ponder on. I wanted to lock myself in my bedroom, but I remembered my meager belongings were probably already relocated to the master suite along with St. John’s. I wistfully wished they had also taken my favorite chair along… I sighed.

* * *

 

“Jane,” a voice called softly, pulling me out of my slumber. “Jane.” The voice called again. I had not realized I had fallen asleep. I was reading a book earlier, was I not? “You must awake, dear Jane, the guests are almost come.” The voice speaks again, this time closer than before. It was a wonderful sound, I thought. I reluctantly opened my eyes; they were too heavy. _My lack of sleep has caught up with me._

St. John’s handsome features slowly swam into focus, his eyes indulgent. His mouth was curved in a lenient smile that broadened as I registered his presence. He was kneeling beside the seat I had slept in, his forearms draped over the armrest as his hands stroked mine. I found the book lying safely on the table. He must have taken it from me earlier. I smiled sleepily at him and he swiftly pecked the top of my head before helping himself up. He offered his arm for me and I took it readily.

“I imagine you would wish to freshen up?” he asked, leading me up the stairs towards what I could only guess was the master suite—our chambers. I nodded in agreement, stifling a yawn which made him chuckle. “Our guests would not appreciate your lack of interest, dear wife. Don’t let them catch you yawning,” he teased. He stopped in front of my bedroom and I looked up at him questioningly. I expected the master suite, after all. “Die awaits,” he smiled, opening the door and motioning for me to go inside. “I shall look for you downstairs.” He kissed my cheek and _winked_ at me, leaving me astonished. He left the passage as I closed the door.


	7. The Wedding Night

Dinner was excellent. It had felt awkward to be at the center of everyone’s attention, but somehow I have made it through half the night unscathed. The wedding guests were but a handful; St. John was adamant on a small, humble feast. Mr. Oliver and his daughter Rosamond had come on their elegant coach, its lavishness rendering St. John’s demure soul uneasy; Mr. Hastings, the minister, as well as Mr. Hicks, the church clerk, arrived flustered in the wind; Ms. Leila Wright, the schoolmistress, along with Ms. Elaine Marsh, Mary and Diana’s lovely friend, had also come to celebrate with us; and, of course, Will and George represented St. John’s Cambridge friends. 

Looking around me, everyone was happy, sharing the joy of the occasion, some more than others. None of the guests were _my_ guests—they were all as good as St. John’s—and I found it difficult not to wallow in self-pity.

I had no one to invite. I wanted to share this occasion with my family. I supposed any bride would have wanted it to be such. And yet I had no family, none I could truly call my own. Both my parents were dead before I could even recognize them. My kind Uncle Reed had gone, and I wished he hadn’t. My Aunt Reed, too, had long since gone to wherever lost souls went. I did not want to believe she went to heaven, nor did I wish her soul to perish in hell. Yet wherever she might be, I would not wish her to be here, even if it were that she was still alive, which I knew she was not. She had hated me too much. My cousins, the three Reeds, were no more than mere acquaintances: the terror of my childhood was dead, the other Reed in a convent, and the other… well, I did not know where she was now. I had another uncle, John Eyre, but he too had passed away alone in Madeira, bequeathing his fortune unto me, without so much as even speaking to me directly. The only relatives I had left whom I knew existed were the three Rivers whom I had shared my inheritance with, but one was now my husband and the other two were his sisters. I could not call them my “guests”.

I wished I could have had Helen Burns with me today. She was my best friend, the girl who taught me to appreciate what fine education Lowood School had to offer despite the cruelty that besieged it. I wished I could be with my old nurse Bessie, the stranger who cared for me at Gateshead Hall when my own blood would not. I wished I could invite Mrs. Fairfax, the gentle widow who kept Thornfield Hall. I even wished I could have the little French lady Adele Varens skipping through the drawing room just so I could call someone my own.

I sucked in a sharp breath and shut my eyes tightly for a moment. My thoughts have wandered too far; my longing had taken them straight in his direction. He was my own. He said so himself in many ways than one. _Oh, I cannot go further,_ my insides pleaded my mind. My thoughts were journeying down a treacherous road. _I cannot,_ I told myself as I slowly let out the breath I was holding, hoping to calm myself. _I long for you, Edward…_ a small voice within me declared. I willed myself to extinguish it and was only too thankful when Rosamond had pulled me out of my reverie.

I had not noticed the small circle the ladies had made with the cushions in the corner of the drawing room. The gentlemen were occupied with wine and chatter by the fireplace, almost huddled in their seats. For a moment, I wondered whether my petite wing backed chair might have been amongst the mismatched chairs—I had not seen it in my bedroom earlier—but decided to push the thought aside as Rosamond tugged on me too eagerly.

She almost shoved me down on the cushions, forcing me to situate myself in the center of the circle. She was kind enough to let me regain my composure before she gushed quietly of a gift she had been too thrilled for me to see. Her enthusiasm was far too infectious, and soon enough the ladies were riled up enough along with me. She stood and left the room hurriedly, excusing herself as she did so, her eyes shining with excitement. When she returned, she was giddily carrying a white rectangular gift box between her arms, gathering curious glances from the men across the room.

“These are from me and my father,” she started as she laid the box in front of me. “I’d love to see you wear them.” She was smiling from ear to ear as I undid the sash and pushed open the lid. I gasped my thanks when I saw what the gift was. A new dress. It only took me a single glance to realize that this was no ordinary dress. It was a pale rose satin evening gown with a richly embroidered bodice. I reluctantly held the dress up to see it in a better light (not that it needed to—the dress was already breathtaking even folded harmlessly in that box), and I heard a collective gasp of appreciation from the ladies around me. I had lost my words once I had the gown meticulously draped across my arms, lifting it completely out of the box. There was a second dress waiting beneath it: plain cream satin with a cascade of understated beading along the neckline. I could only gaze at Rosamond in surprise. Surely there had been some mistake?

“I told you, Jane. One is from me, the other from my father,” she smiled reassuringly. “I found your dressmaker,” she added with a shrug, as though this would explain why they had given me two exquisite gowns for my wedding. I had nowhere to wear these garments to! At the thought, I stared longingly at the expensive gowns. It would be a pity to give them away; they were both too pretty. Yet they had no place at the back of a missionary’s wife. And in India, no less!

“Oh Jane! Now you won’t have to worry of what to wear for Rosamond’s wedding party! These are exquisite!” Diana gushed, adoration in her eyes as she raked the gown almost lustfully in my hands.

“Perhaps…” I thought wistfully as I looked over by the fireplace to search for St. John. He was looking at me, a wine cup pressed at his lips, his eyes shooting fleeting glances at the old rose dress in my hands and the gift box beside me. His face was blank and for a moment I considered giving the gift back to Rosamond. I knew St. John did not fancy anything extravagant; he was all for simplicity and modesty, and these gowns were the opposite of that. But I also knew it would be discourteous to hand these gifts back to the Olivers.

I glanced at the ladies around me, talking excitedly as they admired the dresses. And when I looked back to St. John, he was back in conversation with Will. The evening went on quite uneventfully after that. The Olivers and the clergymen bid us goodbye when the clock struck eight; Mr. Oliver was kind enough to offer the minister and the clerk a ride back to town. Ms. Wright and Ms. Marsh first retreated to the guestroom minutes later (they would be sharing it, as there were no more vacant rooms available), followed by Mary and Diana, then George, then Will.

My heart was beating too fast once I realized it was only me and St. John left in the drawing room. I had decided to busy myself in rearranging Rosamond’s gifts back into the box. As I placed the lid back on top of it, I froze. I felt someone standing right behind me. I pretended not to mind and straightened up, carrying the box with both my hands, intending to bring it back to my bedchamber.

 _My bedchamber._ I still wondered why I had my own bedchamber. Did St. John not want to share his bed with me? Why then would he want to marry me if he had no plans to consummate our wedding vows? I knew it would be wrong not to. And I know that he knows…

My thoughts were jarred into disarray and I shuddered as he slowly drew his breath out onto the back of my neck. He was standing too close to me; I could feel every movement he made. I was aware of his hands claiming the small of my waist as he turned me to face him. He took the box from my hands and laid it back on the table that was now behind me, his body too perceptively close upon mine. He reached for my chin with his index finger, lifting my face to meet his smoldering gaze, and I felt my knees weaken. Slowly, he brushed his knuckles on my cheeks and lowered his lips to my forehead. It was a short kiss, and disappointingly chaste, but I found myself closing my eyes all the same. I hoped he would kiss me properly, but I had waited in vain. His faintly amused smile doused me with cold water as I opened my eyes to glance at him questioningly. I was embarrassed. _Oh, how should he think of me now?_

“I should put you to bed, wife,” he murmured as he reached for the box once again. “I’ll carry this for you.”

“Nothing would please me more, St. John,” I whispered, averting my eyes.

I reached for a candlestick and lit it. He beamed and tugged at my free hand while he clutched the box in another. I vaguely noticed Hannah and the other two servants coming from the direction of the kitchens, probably to clear the drawing room, as St. John and I proceeded upstairs. I halted in front of my bedroom door and looked at St. John expectantly, wordlessly asking for my box back. He gazed at me perplexedly as he deposited the box into my hands, taking the candle from me in exchange, his head cocked to one side.

“Well, goodnight, St. John,” I whispered as I pushed the door open. I merely noticed him furrowing his brows. I could not look at him long enough; I was still embarrassed about the kiss that never happened. I felt him silently following me inside. Though I did not wish to look upon his face, I was thankful enough for it since it was already dark and I knew I’d stumble in the blackness of the room.

I walked towards my wardrobe, intending to place the dresses snugly away for the night, but as I opened the closet doors, I gasped in surprise to find that it was already empty. I heard faint chuckling behind me, and I turned to see St. John eyeing me with amusement. “Where are my clothes, St. John?” I asked, despite knowing the answer. I glanced at the dresser to my right and noticed it was empty as well. _Was it empty earlier?_ I asked myself. I cannot remember.

“In your room, dear Jane,” he answered, walking towards me with a smile that could have outshined the sun. “Come, I’ll bring you to it.” He tugged at me once more, and I could only follow as we exited my bedroom—my _old_ bedroom, that is—and trudged along towards the end of the passage where the master chamber awaited.

He opened the door and motioned for me to get inside. I could hear my heart throbbing between my ears and wondered whether he heard it too. I stood aside to let him through the door once I got in, and paused to let my eyes adjust to the room’s darkness as he shut the door behind him. For a moment, all I could see was the faint flicker of the candle that St. John held, and I watched breathlessly as it flitted across the room, leaving smaller flickers in its wake. Soon enough, the room was bathed in light as about a dozen candles were lit here and there. I found my petite wing back sitting comfortably in a corner, my eyes following St. John as he nimbly crossed the room to light a fire. I vaguely wondered why we needed so many candles then, but decided to push the thought aside.

The fireplace was already crackling when St. John decided to walk towards my frozen frame. He reached for the box that I had forgotten I was still carrying, and laid it down on the table I didn’t realize was beside me. He looked down at me tenderly and I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks. He brushed my right cheek with the backs of his fingers as he continued his gaze through those hooded blue eyes. “You are so beautiful when you blush, sweet Jane,” he murmured. “You don’t need those gowns” – he glanced at the gift box fractionally – “to make you pretty. You don’t need anything. Just a little red on those cheeks,” he whispered as he slowly, painstakingly, lowered his lips unto mine…


	8. Beginnings of Man and Wife

I stirred as the other side of the four-poster bed shifted beside me. Without the bliss of vision, I knew it was St. John carefully rising from the sheets. The morning light was blazing behind my shut eyelids. _It must already be late…_ I hastily unfastened my eyes at the thought, and regretted my actions at once. The sun was indeed shining bright, its beams ignoring the windowpanes and curtains as they crept along the hardwood floor in a haze, blinding me momentarily. 

As my eyes adjusted to the sudden rush of sunlight, I found St. John by the dresser, in the middle of putting on a fresh shirt with his back towards me. His night shirt was crumpled and creased beyond imagination; it was hanging limply by a stool. I blushed. I knew perfectly well how his shirt came to be in its current state. And as if he had heard the sudden flutter of my heartbeat at the thought, he turned to my direction.

“Good morning, wife,” he smiled, his features transforming almost angelically as he began to walk back to my side of the bed. The sunlight caught him only too beautifully as he walked past the window. I sat up with a wince I managed to stifle, realizing my small frame was sore. I shifted as he sat on the edge of the bed— _our_ bed—and succeeded to smile back to my husband. (Calling him husband was only one of a great many things I still had to learn to accustom myself to.) He reached and caressed my face with his index finger, managing to tuck some loose brown tendrils behind my ear. I imagined I grew red for he smiled at me tenderly once more. He had told me last night how he appreciated the red of my cheeks. Surprisingly, I found myself believing him. It had been long since I saw myself as someone who was not plain; I had no doubt I would see a beautiful woman in the mirror today. St. John’s seemingly genuine admiration had its way of turning doubts into smoke.

“Slept well, I hope?” he inquired, averting his eyes as he did so. He was… _shy!_ And I simply found it adorable. Here was a trait I had never imagined St. John would possess. I nodded silently, smiling at him just as shyly when he found my eyes again. I observed relief flood his countenance at my response, and I wondered what he had expected me to answer. I found him staring at me just then, his blue eyes shining ardently in the sunlight, and I felt my entire being suspended in time, frozen. Willing my anatomy, I managed to lean towards his direction however minutely my body would permit. I felt it was the only right thing to do, and his gaze had too much power over me…

Without saying a word, St. John had managed to close our distance, his lips finding mine softly. I closed my eyes as I responded to his searching lips with equal fervor, which only seemed to intensify his passion. He stroked my cheek as he did so, his fingers tracing delicately down the side of my face and to my bare throat. I imagined he should feel how strong my pulse throbbed, but his touch did not linger there long. He finally rested his palms at the back of my head, tangling in my hair, pulling me deeper into his dazing kiss. I found my own hands longing to touch him, and I held onto him for dear life, clutching at his shirt and feeling his chest pounding into my palms.

We were both breathless and impassioned when he reluctantly broke the kiss, as though he never meant to act upon it, and I felt my insides rise in mutiny. I leaned towards him once more, intending to resume what had been unfavorably ended, but he cradled my face steadily between his palms, and only pecked little kisses at the top of my head, my forehead, and my cheeks. It was of paramount efforts that I disguised my disappointment, but he seemed to recognize it all the same. He gave me a quick chaste kiss on the lips, undoubtedly to appease my internal uprising, which only helped to calm me so little.

“You must dress now, I think,” he murmured, pressing his forehead close to mine, his eyes still glazed, his breaths shallow. “We must see our guests off before noon, and Hannah is just about to serve brunch, I presume.” I had forgotten about the guests! And I only blushed inwardly as I realized what had made me overlook this fact. Last night was… hauntingly beautiful. The flicker of the candles, the crackle of the fire, the cautious moonbeams penetrating the gaps of the closed curtains, and St. John’s delicately unhurried touch. Oh, his touch had scalded my entire being to the core, rendering my thoughts into wild disarray. Just as he managed to achieve right this very moment.

“Couldn’t Mary and Diana see them off instead of us?” I asked almost petulantly, knowing his answer.

“As much as I would want them to, Jane, they can’t.” St. John smiled as though he was placating a child. “I shall not have it said that the missionary and his new bride had been ill-mannered to their guests.”

He kissed me once again, but his original plan of it being chaste I had conquered. I imparted to him my growing passion, and I heard him inhale sharply in surprise. Even I was astonished with my actions, but I rejoiced as he gave in to his ardor, only to be disheartened when he recovered and pulled me away, his hands gripping the sides of my arms too firmly, a groan restrained in his throat. “Oh Jane, you magnificent creature. What magic have you cast upon me?” he whispered breathlessly, almost to himself. An unwelcome thought flashed within my mind as I heard his words, echoes of the man I had loved before; I forced them out with the tiniest hesitation, choosing to behold St. John’s handsome features instead.

He merely tucked a lock of my hair back behind my ear, and then stood all too quickly, offering his hand to me as he did. Ignoring the rejection reflected by his apparent haste, I reached for his fingers and pulled myself upright, my bare feet touching the cold wood of the floor. I felt his hooded gaze pierce me before he swiftly seized my night robe that hung limply at the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed and held it out for me to wear. “You must dress,” he repeated, his voice almost begging. “Now, wife, if you please.”

I nodded my obedience wordlessly and walked across the room to where the dresser and wardrobe were standing. A basin of water awaited me, and I welcomed its refreshing coolness as I washed my hands and face. I looked back at him as he drew the curtains shut, blocking some of the sun’s intensity. He watched me as he stepped towards the bench once more, only to avert his eyes as he saw me take my robe off and pull open the closet doors. I turned my attention to the garments within, one half now dedicated to St. John’s belongings, the other devoted to mine. I chose one of my newer grey linen dresses and took it out, closing the wardrobe as I did so.

I reached for the changing screen and struggled to spread it out. In an instant, St. John was there to help my fumbling hands, and for a moment, we stood across each other on opposite sides of the screen. Peering from one edge of the divide, I saw his bright blue eyes return in a haze, and for a moment, I thought he would reach for me and crush me to him, but he turned on his heels quickly enough, clearing his throat as he did.

I changed out of my nightgown and into my linens abruptly, pausing only to dab my body clean with a soaked square cloth and to admire the faint red marks St. John had bestowed upon me last night. They trailed from my collarbone to the swell of my breasts, at the margin of my ribs and the flat of my stomach. I flushed as I remembered how he showered me with kisses, and realized that now a beautiful young lady was standing in the mirror across me. I sighed as I donned the plain grey dress, and then proceeded to gather my hair up in a bun.

I folded and replaced the changing screen to the side of the wardrobe once I was done, this time no longer fumbling helplessly. St. John beamed at me approvingly, rising from the stool that accompanied the study table that still nested the Olivers’ wedding gifts, and I knew it was mostly to the modest number I had chosen to wear. He offered me his arm, and led me to the door.

He bent down to kiss me unchastely before he turned the handle. “There. Beautifully flushed,” he murmured, catching his breath as we both composed ourselves, tugging on my hand and interlacing our fingers as he did so.

We found the guests waiting in the drawing room, sitting in a circle of high backed chairs across the fireplace which was burning low. I supposed Hannah must have had them brought together for the forthcoming meal; I heard the telltale bustle from the kitchens and the clink of what I could guess were cutlery and china from the dining room.

To entertain themselves, Will and George were talking animatedly of Cambridge to the four ladies who each seemed to take turns in asking questions. St. John had unceremoniously pulled me to the room with him as quietly as he could manage, and I believed he had wanted so desperately to evade the bounty of attention that was afforded both of us since last night. I was in no way indifferent to his discomfort, of course, since I myself had been too accustomed of being a wallflower essentially everywhere, but I had wondered where St. John sourced his distress, although well-disguised. He was, after all, a missionary man who encountered all sorts of people and who commanded their attention in his days of service.

St. John cleared his throat to announce our presence, and I was aware of his grasp tightening between my fingers fractionally as he did so, as though bracing himself of what lies ahead. I suppressed the sudden urge to giggle at the thought, and managed a second throat-clearing which the guests did not miss in the least.

The gentlemen stood and William spoke first, his smile too wide that I wondered whether his sharp jaws would hurt. “Alas, our beloved newlyweds finally out of their love nest!” He briefly eyed the ladies who seemed uncomfortable in his choice of words and shot each a look of amused apology before turning back to us. “Ah, a blushing bride,” he remarked. I watched St. John purse his lips through the corner of my eyes, which made Will rethink his words, I supposed. “Do forgive my apparent crudeness, Jane, but I find ‘I am only too happy for the two of you’ is my best excuse.” Will’s smile dazzled the room, I noticed, as I thought idly back to the dawn of my wedding. I was astonished to find myself hoping what he said that morning was true.

“Mind your tongue, Will. We have ladies around,” George scolded, although his lips betrayed a curl of a smile. He, too, was a dashing young man, though his features screamed gentle and shy as Will’s disclosed both shrewd and lightheartedness. I saw how the ladies admired both of them equally, judging by how they watched the two adoringly.

George went to draw out a chair and offered me a seat and St. John drew his own right beside me. Accepting murmurs of congratulations from everyone as we sat, the earlier conversation was resumed, and I found myself listening in wonder. Cambridge sounded a beautiful place, and I surprisingly found myself envy that St. John had already been. I secretly wondered whether I could visit other places, too.

Not a long while after, Hannah had come in to announce that brunch is served. St. John offered his arm to me as we walked towards the formal dining room, his other hand stroking my fingers absentmindedly. I found I appreciated his small affectionate gestures, especially the ones he did almost unconsciously, and again hoped that Will’s words were true. Perhaps St. John could be right. Enough of love might indeed follow… _or will it?_ my thoughts sneered.


	9. Assurances

Ms. Wright and Ms. Marsh left Moor House together a little after brunch. They had kissed my sisters-in-law goodbye alternatingly, then turned to me and St. John. I found myself slightly disgruntled as Ms. Marsh, Mary and Diana’s friend, fractionally lingered a little too long in kissing St. John’s cheek. I tried to brush the feeling off hastily, scolding myself inwardly as I did, but I simply judged Ms. Marsh too familiar. I was only too glad to watch them traipse away by then. 

Marching back inside, with everyone intending to spend most of the day indoors, I heard Mary and Diana gushing cheerfully as Will volunteered to teach them common phrases in German with George. St. John’s friends had chartered a coach to leave for Cambridge early tomorrow morning, and both did not wish to exhaust themselves before the long journey. I wondered whether I could learn with them too, and found myself peering a quick glance to St. John. I caught him staring at me in apparent wonder, which only made me flush. He smiled and I briefly forgot what I had in mind.

We returned to the drawing room with Diana almost skipping her way to the common room too excitedly; she was off to fetch their dictionaries and some ink and paper. St. John drew me a chair, and kissed my cheek before he left the room. I wondered where he had gone, but Will was quick enough to occupy me and Mary.

“Mary, pray tell how much our darling Jane had transformed stern cold St. John in a matter of days,” Will said after checking that St. John was out of earshot, his eyes shining amusedly at my stunned expression. I was expecting a rather lighthearted subject.

I looked to Mary and found her smiling fondly at me. “Oh Jane, you probably only have the slightest idea; among us, you have known him the shortest. But even before you had announced your engagement, I had felt something was different with my brother whenever he was with you. St. John has indeed changed, I know we had all noticed, and for the better, too!” she exclaimed. “I had not seen him laugh as heartily as I have seen him do so lately since he joined the ministry—“

“He’s never laughed like that in Cambridge, either. And that was long before he joined the ministry,” Will interjected, with George quietly nodding his assent. I blushed.

“I could also perceive how much he was in haste to get back once we travelled from Cambridge,” George imparted.

“And his odd relief as he stepped inside the threshold was only too palpable, was it not?” added Will. “I had been wondering about it through the entire journey as well, but I knew better than to ask. We all know better than to ask St. John of such matters. And then I watched as he searched the room for you, and I knew: here was a man only too helplessly in love. I’ve seen it before, you know, with my father. I know the look.”

“His high walls no longer stand, Jane,” Mary agreed, her hands clasping mine. “You have no idea just how much I appreciate how you have changed my brother. Diana does so, too.”

“We all do,” Will and George chorused, smiles painted on their faces.

I was speechless. Could all of it be true? Or were they only seeing the circumstances as one should be expected to see it? I suspected they only said those words out of courtesy to St. John’s bride. Of course, saying St. John married me for love would have been an honor, and I wanted to believe it. But as I thought back to his proposal, there was nothing there that could prove he wanted to marry me for love and not for duty. He had called me the perfect missionary’s wife, had he not? How then could what Mary, George, and Will are saying be true?

I hoped they were, though. Deep within my core, a small part of me wished it were true. It would be easy to learn to love him back. But even if it were false, and all of what they were saying were merely unfounded biases, I found myself admitting it would be easy enough to love him all the same. Last night alone proved to awaken some incomprehensible earnest passion within me, and had made me yearn even the slightest of his touch…

Diana had returned clutching the books. And I watched as they arranged themselves in a small huddle. Will had started to converse flawlessly in German (I could only say so judging by the awed looks on the ladies’ faces), gauging just how fluent the sisters already are. He corrected their accents as they spoke alternately, tweaking syllabic stresses here and there. I listened intently and tried to make mental notes, though I could not understand several of the words—I had changed from learning German to learning Hindostanee for St. John before I could call myself proficient in the former tongue.

“Enjoying yourself?” I heard him whisper behind me, which only served to raise the hairs at the back of my neck. I turned to St. John and found his face too close to mine, his breath fanning my skin oh so gently, and I could only close my eyes. I was disappointed to look and find him already standing straight at the same spot. I had hoped to kiss him then, and scolded myself for entertaining too many unrestrained thoughts since waking up this morning.

He held out a hand and I reached for it, curiosity gleaming from my eyes. He pulled me near him. “It is too beautiful a day to waste cooped up indoors, I think,” he murmured close to my ears, making me shudder. “We shall enjoy the sun outside,” he declared to the others before pulling me towards the doorway, not bothering to look at everyone’s faces. Mary was only nodding at me encouragingly, while Will smirked. Once in the hall, I saw a picnic basket, waiting innocently at the table, which St. John picked up effortlessly without letting go of my hand.

He led me out of the house by the back door and onto the shade of the yew tree. The day was indeed too beautiful to spend indoors. He let go of my hand to set a blanket on the grass and then sat in it, his legs stretched wide beyond him. He then extended an arm towards me, beckoning me to come close, and I did. He reached for my hand and tugged me unceremoniously, making me lose my balance. I squeaked as I fell onto his chest, yet he only laughed, holding me close enough. I was only thankful my skirts had not gone over the top of my head.

* * *

 

I have been married to St. John for almost three weeks now, and I could not understand why I had not accepted his proposal earlier than I had. Of his sternness, there were but only traces whenever he was with me. His coldness had vanished, I believed. These had been replaced with darling gentleness and affection. And I found myself regarding him with fondness and adoration in return. Although there had seemed to be an unspoken agreement between us as neither had professed love, platonic or otherwise, I had realized that my love for him as a brother had grown into something I could not fathom. I had sat myself numb trying to analyze every sinew of my emotions, yet I could not find an answer. I was certain this was not the same passion I had felt ages ago; that was full of flame and burning whereas this was more serene and reassuring. Although, admittedly, I had relentlessly burned passionately each night under my husband’s touch. 

I sighed. My thoughts had gone befuddled once again. Whenever St. John left the house without me for a length of time, I would find myself wondering about idle things and unwelcome thoughts. Though, undeniably, the unwelcome thoughts had come less and less as my marriage lasted longer. Images of an old love flashed rarely now; St. John had filled its former nook almost adequately as time flew by.

My husband had gone to a neighboring village. There was a gravely sick parishioner last night, and he had been summoned in the middle of the night to pray over the man’s soul as he passed through the valley of death. It had been raining relentlessly and was almost too dark now, and St. John has yet to arrive. I yearned to welcome him home, help him change his clothes, feed him some hot soup and a roast beef I had prepared, and warm and comfort him when we went upstairs. I peered through the window once more, willing myself to see a speck of his presence, but there was nothing in the horizon.

“He said he would arrive for dinner at the latest, Jane,” Diana coaxed me gently. “He will come.”

Far from reassured, I nodded but peered again for what I could guess was the hundredth time since this morning. I should have come with him last night. I wanted to but he would not permit it. He had said the night was too sharp for me, and I relented as I had just recovered from a mild chill days ago. _Oh, where is he now?_ I whimpered inwardly as I gazed through the fine mist of the heavy rain.

I went and sat by the fire, resisting the urge to walk back across the common room and peer again at the window. I felt the sisters watching me curiously, and I supposed my anxiety should be unfounded; Mary and Diana were embroidering pillow cases quite calmly and, had they been worried, they were good enough at concealing it.

My thoughts were in a frenzied haze, when at last, I heard the front door creak. I almost leapt from my seat as I rushed towards the hall. There he was, sodden with rain, disheveled from the strong winds, and with black circles beneath his eyes. He had not slept, I assumed.

I strode towards him as he propped his walking stick on the wall, shrugged off his cloak, and hung it by the stand. He took me in his arms when I stopped near enough to watch him and verify whether he had only been a desperate illusion. Ignoring his soaked clothes, I embraced him tightly and fought back the tears that were already stinging my eyes. “You were gone too long,” I choked, burying my face in his chest, fearing the ridiculous tears would fall if I looked upon his face.

“I know. I’m sorry. Hush now, I’m alright,” he said softly, rubbing the small of my back gently. Assuring myself that the tears will not fall, I gazed up at him, and he met my eyes briefly before leaning down for a kiss.

 _Oh, he is truly with me now,_ I sighed in relief. Reluctantly, I ended the kiss and pulled away from him. He seemed to crave more, but I interjected. “You need to take a warm bath and change into dry clothes or you’d get yourself a chill.”

He claimed a brief kiss before delicately taking my hand and leading me upstairs. I had Hannah prepare him his bath (I had instructed her to keep the kettles boiling long before St. John had arrived; I knew he would be needing a bath quickly enough) and I brought him some hot soup while he waited, though he had not needed long.

I lingered patiently for him to finish, and laid out some fresh dry clothes for him to change to once he was done. When he got out of the adjoining bath in his robes, I resisted the urge to embrace him once more. I had been so worried for him earlier that his presence in our bedchamber seemed surreal. “I laid out your clothes,” I said quietly instead, pointing to the garments hanging limply by the dresser.

He nodded with a small smile, eyeing me curiously as he walked towards his clothes. He donned his pants first, not bothering to spread the changing screen out. Then he took off his robe to throw on his shirt. I admired the momentary spectacle of his lean frame; his carved back and sculpted sinews only reminded me of warm nights and loving passion.

“You should eat supper now. I made you roast beef,” I smiled as I swallowed the rising desire down my throat.

He strode towards me wordlessly, and locked me in his arms instead. He crushed me in his warm embrace and kissed me ardently. I kissed him back with the same passion, appreciating the fact that he was here now with me, safe and sound. Breathless, he pulled away and peered into my eyes intently. “I love you, Jane.”


	10. A Wedding Ball

I stood carefully across the mirror, admiring my reflection. _Even the plainest of women would look stunning wearing a dress like this,_ I thought. The pale cream dress hung on to my small frame perfectly. I figured Rosamond was telling the truth when she mentioned my dressmaker. Hannah handed me my gloves, and I slipped them on delicately. I watched as the picture of an elegant lady was completed in front of me, and Hannah observed me in awe as well. 

“Aye, Ma’am. You look pretty enough,” she said in her crude accent.

I beamed at the compliment, and then remembered St. John. He was against me wearing any of these exquisite dresses for Rosamond’s wedding party; he found them too ostentatious. But the women of the house had out-reasoned him with talks of courtesy and status, it seemed, as he had relented with the choice of the simpler dress between the two. He was currently waiting downstairs, fully dressed in a less ostentatious coat and cravat, as he could not very well help me fasten my corset as Hannah could. I sighed. I looked too elegant, I should probably upset my husband’s modest nature.

I thanked Hannah for helping me dress and we both withdrew from the bedchamber. I went for the stairs as Hannah turned to Diana’s room. I descended the flight steadily, taking care not to make noise with the heel of my shoe.

I walked towards the drawing room, and saw St. John’s shadow sitting on a chair by the fireplace, his features glowing mysteriously like embers. He must have heard the rustle of my skirts for he turned slowly towards my direction before he stood. He only watched silently as I closed the distance between us. For a moment, I wished to rip out of the elegant dress and change into something that would make him more satisfied, but his eyes betrayed his own upset, for I saw them glimmer in admiration.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, and I beamed despite the flush that crept on my cheeks. “Much more now,” he added, his eyes glazed. He had been generous with his compliments since that stormy night. He had professed his love to me and I could only stand there transfixed and dumbstruck. He had kissed me then after he waited for a response that never came, and pretended nothing happened. He had not mentioned it since.

“Thank you,” I smiled shyly, still not accustomed to St. John’s compliments despite his constancy. “My husband looks more dashing, in my opinion.”

“Not as good as you. Especially once you put this on,” he answered, taking something out of his pocket. He held it close for me to examine it, and I found that it was a thin golden chain with a sparkling amethyst for a pendant.

I gasped in astonishment. I had not expected this at all. He had been upset with everyone all afternoon.

“A much too lavish family heirloom I had intended to keep locked up in a chest, never to be seen again,” he explained. “But my wife needs something on that tempting throat to keep me at bay, or I wouldn’t be able to take my hands off her all evening, would I?”

I nodded, still at a loss for words, barely understanding what he had just said. He chuckled softly. “Here, let me.” I turned around to let him fasten the chain on my bare neck. When he spun me back around to face him, I almost fell, but he was quick to steady me, his hands grasping my waist as he pulled me close to him. “I shouldn’t see you like this too often, Jane. You… make me forget… everything…” he whispered as he slowly lowered his lips until they crushed mine in fiery passion.

* * *

 

The ride to Vale Hall was short enough by coach. The grounds were already teeming with all kinds of horse-drawn carriages, each more luxurious than the next; this was a gathering for the elites, and our coach was only too simple in comparison. An usher opened the door to let us out. The newlyweds were at the hall, welcoming the guests that filed to get inside. 

Once we had entered the hall, St. John held me firmly by the waist, refusing to part with me as we walked through a throng of servants and guests. The usher led us to our table; I knew no one beyond my three companions. I had not bothered to look around. I knew there was no one here I could possibly recognize.

The night quickly passed along with the many courses that grazed our tables. The traditional quadrilles had ended, and evening informalities were fast spreading with the rush of more wine. I watched the guests converse dynamically amongst each other, social butterflies prancing from one circle to the next. There were several who knew St. John and his sisters; those were all too surprised to discover that St. John had already married. I figured their astonishment was more for the fact that St. John had married a plain woman, and I only flinched at the thought.

As midnight approached, St. John excused himself, and I was left with no acquaintances at the table. The sisters had both accepted an invitation to the ballroom. I glanced at the bridal table, but somehow saw Rosamond and her bridegroom braving the congratulatory crowd to get to my direction. They had been very admirable hosts; they mingled with their guests and rarely remained at their table.

I looked around and found St. John returning to me. He reappeared beside me just as soon as the new Mr. and Mrs. Granby reached our spot. I thought I saw disappointment at Rosamond’s features as she looked between me wearing the dress she gave me and St. John’s dazzling smile. _Did she expect something different?_ I asked myself, although the look vanished so quickly, I even wondered whether it truly occurred.

“I am only too glad you could come!” Rosamond gushed, her pitch only too high for my taste. “And you wore my gift! How charming!” Somehow, I doubted whether she was telling the truth. Her initial reaction still haunted me.

She formally introduced her husband to me and St. John. And again, I thought I noticed her eyeing St. John closely as she entwined her arms around Granby. _What was she doing?_ Well, whatever it was, I was only too glad that St. John’s attentions could not be easily swayed from me. I thought he hardly even noticed Rosamond’s actions.

“Oh, there’s Father!” Rosamond exclaimed after a while. “Father, come!” she called over the loud crowd. (I supposed she had drunk one glass of wine too many, judging by her actions.) My vision caught Mr. Oliver by the painting only three meters far, determinedly maneuvering through the throng of guests.

At last, Mr. Oliver approached us. He shook St. John warmly by the hand, genuinely gladdened at his presence, I presumed. I knew Mr. Oliver regarded my husband as his own son; he even wanted him for his own daughter. He kissed my hand as he turned to me, and I thanked him for inviting us to the party.

“Rosamond, Granby. I have a highly esteemed gentleman with me,” Mr. Oliver cheerfully addressed his daughter and new son-in-law. “He wishes to offer you his congratulations before he departs.” He glanced behind him, and I subtly peered over his shoulders out of my own curiosity. I felt my heart drop to the pit of my stomach at what apparition awaited my eyes. “The elusive Rochester of Thornfield Hall,” Mr. Oliver clapped his back as he pushed him forward, sounding obviously pleased with himself.

I felt St. John stiffen beside me, his hand gripping mine too tightly. He did not look at me at all, but I knew he recognized the newcomer’s name. I saw Edward’s eyes fall on mine, betraying no emotion. He shook Granby’s hand, and kissed Rosamond congratulations. He then turned to our direction and looked at Mr. Oliver quizzically, apparently awaiting an introduction.

“Ah. This is Mr. St. John Rivers, Morton’s most dedicated missionary, in my opinion,” Mr. Oliver offered. “And his young wife, Mrs. Jane Rivers, the new mistress of Moor House.”

I braved a glance at Edward’s face at the introduction and saw nothing in his eyes. He acted the stranger as he shook St. John’s hand and kissed mine—a peculiar act only too welcome, in my opinion. I did not fancy spearheading the town gossip this time tomorrow.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he murmured, his steady gaze raising multitudes of tension within me. St. John and I returned the pleasantries, playing along with the stranger game Edward seemed to want to play. His eyes momentarily burned fiercely behind his apathetic mask as he studied me, his gaze lingering maliciously on the beaded bodice of my gown and the glittering amethyst that was draped around my neck. I felt St. John stand closer than ever before, as though concerned Edward would take me from him any moment. I wondered whether that would happen, too.

“I’ve changed my mind, Oliver. Perhaps I’ll stay for longer.” Edward was eyeing me as I heard him inform the older gentleman. Mr. Oliver seemed pleased and blissfully ignorant of the ongoing struggle that was happening among his three guests.

“I was indeed hoping for it! I’ve had my servants prepare you a chamber. I would demand that you stay on my grounds whilst you’re here. No inns!” Mr. Oliver declared, wagging a stubby finger at Rochester who only barked a laugh in reply. I imagined him glancing at me sideways, his features turning dark momentarily as he witnessed St. John’s hand reach protectively towards the side of my waist.

“Mr. Oliver, Jane and I should leave you to your other guests now, I suppose,” St. John started, ever so politely. “I’m afraid we have a couple demanding days ahead, my wife and I.” I could not have noticed if I had not been listening intently, but St. John made sure to stress the word _wife_ as he said it.

“Oh, pish-posh! None of that non-sense! I’ve only found you and you’re leaving so soon?” Mr. Oliver replied. “You wound me, young man.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Oliver, but I must insist,” St. John said, calmly irresolute. He had now wrapped his arm properly around my waist and drew me ever closer. “The night runs late, and we have an early morning on the morrow.”

Mr. Oliver knew my husband well enough to even attempt to sway him and he reluctantly agreed instead. Honestly, I was relieved. My heart was still pounding violently beneath my chest, I was certain St. John had already sensed it.

“I shall see you before India, St. John. That is no request,” Mr. Oliver commanded. I imagined St. John could not possibly refuse the old man twice in one evening and he had no choice but to relent. He nodded curtly and led me away from the small group in well-disguised haste.

He led me out of the hall. “My sisters,” he whispered as he seemed to only remember his sisters once the chatter was drowned by the walls. I knew he was anxious but he endeavored to conceal it from me. He must have been battling himself with what to do. I did not wish to be left here on my own any more than I wanted to return to that hall, risking another encounter with Edward.

“Stay here, Jane,” St. John commanded after a while. “It’ll be quicker for me to find Mary and Diana without you in tow,” he gently added as he watched my features betray my dissent. “I won’t take long, I promise.” He kissed my forehead before he turned to leave.

I stood frozen at that spot for a while, not knowing where I should go. Not knowing what else to do, I had decided to occupy myself with the watercolor paintings that spanned the damask-papered walls, purposefully turning my back on the doorway and taking care to place a great sculpture by my side, hoping it might conceal me some. I could hear the endless chatter rumbling behind the walls and briefly wondered whether St. John would take any longer.

I wanted to just leave this place and go back to my new life I had already learned to love. Somehow I resented how St. John had to leave me alone even for just a while. Not now. Edward Fairfax Rochester was here in this very place, and St. John had just left me. I did not trust myself enough to be left to my own devices. Why had St. John left me here? Did he think it wiser than to bring me with him back inside?

The wall that I had almost successfully put in place had been shattered to pieces in one burning look from the very man I had worked too rigorously to put behind me. The thoughts came flooding back and it was all too consuming; I yearned to forget this evening ever happened. _Why is Edward even here?_ I asked myself in despair, knowing I had no answer.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” I heard an only too familiar voice rasp quietly behind me. I had not heard him come near. “There are more beautiful ones hanging in Thornfield Hall. I framed all your works, Jane. They were all I had of you.”

I could not move. Edward was here. He was standing behind me while I stood rooted on the spot. He whirled me around, catching my arms before I could fall. My breath caught in my throat when he drew me in a tight embrace. I could feel his longing, and for a moment I wondered whether I longed for him too. I was terrified of what my answer would be.

“Oh Jane. I’ve searched for you for far too long,” he whispered, clutching on me tighter. “I never tired, Jane. I never stopped. I had never dreamed to find you married to someone else. It had only been a year. I counted the days, Jane.” His voice cracked with pain and reeked with passion, and I could not dream of what to tell him in return. “Tell me you still love me, Jane. Tell me you were forced by this _St. John_ to marriage.” He uttered St. John’s name with profound disdain.

I could only look at him in despair. My words were caught in my throat and I realized my tears were already threatening to fall from my eyes at this unwelcome confrontation. He had not let go of his hold on me, and I felt something long in deep slumber stir within me. _Edward is here,_ I thought.

“Release my wife, Rochester.” His voice was deathly quiet. I was stunned to see St. John standing so close, his sisters anxiously standing by the doorway, clearly confused about their evening drawing to an early close. His voice was trembling calmly with anger. Edward reluctantly let go of me, and I anxiously stepped closer to my husband, not wanting an awful scene to ensue. I had never seen St. John like this. He was seething yet his features remained cold and calm. He stood full of quiet rage and I could only think of what a terrifying sight my husband had become.


	11. The Missionary's Mind

The coach had been trailing the roads far too slowly. Time itself had been trickling far too slowly. I needed to set myself apart from what this evening had offered. I needed to be alone. I needed to be alone with Jane. Countless times I tried to get a glimpse of her expression, and countless times I had failed. It was too dark. I could only see her faint contours. She had tucked herself far enough in a corner to hide her face from the light of the moon. 

I could not even begin to imagine how she must think of me now. I saw plain terror in her eyes just a while ago as I let my demons take over me. And she had now chosen the seat beside Mary. I figured she did not want anything to do with me. And all I had desired in this world tonight was to hold and reassure her that none of my previous rage was directed at her.

Desire. It was too passionate a word – one I had been too certain I would never find need of. But Jane had her way of awakening my long-buried emotions. I had never imagined the beggar I once saw in my doorstep could remind me of my all too human nature. I am weak and selfish. And although I had done God’s work to the ends of my abilities, I had always found myself too human when I was with Jane.

Hard and cold was who I was before Jane had come. I had thought I was living my life perfectly and to my own satisfaction. I was a minister of God. I did His work. Yet, in all of that, I yearned for something more. For quite a while, I had supposed it was Rosamond who had been keeping me from appreciating total gratification. I had despised myself raw for entertaining thoughts of her then, and I had triumphed in those kinds of battles. Until Jane.

She was weak and almost dying when I first beheld her. She was but a beggar in my eyes, slumped in a mindless heap on my doorstep. Yet, in just days, I would watch her resume her existence and find myself in awe. I had known that she was broken and much too fragile – of what, I could not tell before – but I had also witnessed unwavering strength beneath the surface. I envied her righteousness for it came freely and unhindered. I coveted her refreshing warmth and judicious intellect. But I admired her passion most of all.

Thoughts of what has passed reminded me of how I had come to this state. It had all quite begun the day she relinquished Morton school back to me, after she had discovered our cousinship and her inheritance. I was grave when she had then asked me for Hannah; I thought she was to fly off on some excursion – something I was averse to, though it was not in my power to refuse her if she had wanted to do the exact thing.

Jane gave up the school and her teaching post very gleefully. I did not understand her light-heartedness at all; I had believed duty and service were things we had in common. And yet, when she had told me of her plans for Moor House, my mind began to picture her as its mistress. Domestic endearments and household joys was what I called it out loud, and I excused her abruptly then, for my thoughts had gone rampant and out of control. “I hope your energies will then once more trouble you with their strength,” I managed to tell her. I had to continually convince myself of seeing only a fellow servant of God in her person from that day forward, and that alone had been too tasking.

I had kept well beyond Moor House as Jane busied herself with refurbishing it. Only thoughts of her being someone’s perfect wife would cross my mind whenever my thoughts had strayed – I despised these mindless musings, and they would come uninvited and ceaseless. But I couldn’t very well keep from Jane forever. When my sisters’ arrival had come, I had made a mistake to come in early. I tried to belittle her work as wordlessly as I could possibly do and acted as cold as I could ever be to her, but she invited me to a general inspection of her labors, and I could not be more pleased of what she had done. Moor House was a respectable home once again, I had to give her that. Yet I had been astonished at the admiration that grew within me. These were only material things – things I shouldn’t have a care for – and yet there I was, trying my damned best to act nonchalant. Once again, after believing too long that I had outgrown this terrible attraction, I had found charm in the mere humanities and amenities of life with its peaceful enjoyments. And I couldn’t help but blame it all on Jane. Guilt had struck me when I saw her crest-fallen countenance at my cold response. I had sensed she had been eager to show me her accomplishments. Yet I couldn’t very well expose my undue satisfaction. I didn’t admire her work alone. I admired her.

Once I had freed myself of her, on pretense of reading a book, my thoughts stunned me once more. I could already imagine the parlor as my sphere for Jane was with me. The Himalayan ridge, the Caffre bush, the Guinea Coast, India, all gone from my innermost yearnings. Missionary work was no longer as enticing as before. I no longer needed to prove my courage nor task my fortitude to anyone. I chastised myself long enough for these wicked thoughts, and blamed them all to Jane. I had realized I could no longer be in her presence too long; she dulled my mind and replaced them with countless emotions I could not even begin to understand when I had done well to push those to the inner recesses of my mind until now. Oh, how thankful I was for the poor lad who called for me that night. I had no care wherever it was that the boy would bring me, and when I returned well after midnight, my heart was content and appeased. I had forgotten about the feelings Jane had stirred earlier for I had performed an act of duty. I was on better terms with myself once again.

Later, when I received word of Rosamond’s engagement from her father, I had been surprisingly calm. I had expected myself to be resentful as Mr. Oliver told me the news, but I was serene as glass about it; the same way I was when I imparted the news to Jane and my sisters. They were as confused about my reaction as I was. Rosamond seemed to no longer stir anything within me. I figured she never did, at least not like Jane has managed to do… Jane had sought me after the news, and I only dreaded her presence as we were alone. I had been too careful of her company, and I had distanced myself quite successfully from her since she had moved into Moor House. She inquired of my thoughts about the engagement, and all I could truly think of was that Jane was with me alone. I felt my yet unnamed emotions boil so repulsively well within my self-repressive cage, and I named myself victorious as I treated her as frigidly as I could.

I believed myself strong enough to resist her then. Yet on the days to come, I had felt my resolve weaken. During calmer days when I would sit on my corner and read, I had never failed to catch myself staring at Jane’s direction. She would always be across me, reading and talking to herself in German. I would listen to her graceful tongue and watch as she would tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, and find every deed enticing and satisfying. I would think I could do this for hours at a time and never tire. And whenever her green eyes fell on mine, my thoughts would immediately be snapped back to reality; I would always find the need to remind myself of my spirit’s ambition and chastise myself of this humanly desire. But, always, I would find myself looking back. The cycle was only too vicious.

When I had tired of stolen glances and attempts at neglect in vain, I asked her to be my student. I had convinced myself it was for the better – that I would learn Hindostanee a great deal better if I had a student to engrave everything into my mind – and that she was the better student in comparison with my sisters. I was both satisfied and fretful when she accepted. I showed her the length of my patience and forbearance, and conversed my approbation when she fulfilled my expectations. I savored the fact that I had acquired influence over her as I observed her daily activities, and I wondered whether I could go on like this for years. I knew this time that my answer was undoubtedly in the affirmative, but my mind asked myself what of Jane’s? I still had no answer in the present, yet I had experienced the consequences of my absurd act. I had pushed myself beyond the precipice. I had invited Jane beyond my high walls.

Going back, I had committed our first kiss to my memory. It was in no way eventful or even worthy of such a great place in my mind, but there it was. Diana had asked why I did not kiss Jane like my sisters. I had my reasons but I kept them all to myself and acted as though I merely neglected to do the deed. Inwardly, I had applauded myself for acting so nonchalantly as I bent my head and leveled my face with hers. For a moment, I had wondered whether she would welcome my kiss or despise it – I wondered the same for myself – but I had pushed the thought aside as my desires ran rampant, and I kissed her. It was a short and simple kiss but it had changed me permanently, and I had never neglected doing it since. I had found sweet satisfaction in the act, and I was only too glad to chastise myself nightly for it.

Before long, I had fallen prey to anxiety when I had noticed Jane to be ill-looking and in low spirits. I had realized that my efforts of filling her with content were all in vain. I had known she had been inquiring of her old master from Mr. Briggs and suspected she had been trying to be in correspondence as she always seemed to expect mail; I had resented this fact deeply. I knew then I had to act, yet I had not known when to spring my plan into action. All I knew was that one evening, a scheme had brewed itself in my mind; a relatively averse idea which appealed strongly to my weak senses.

When the day had come, I was not at all surprised to watch her sob in one of our lessons, yet I had found myself uneasy all the same. I had wanted to relieve her of this sorrow, yet I did not know what I could do and I could only watch her. She muttered something about being unwell, but I knew very clearly what had probably upset her as it had upset me also. I had sensed her growing dissatisfaction with her life’s path. She had been looking back, and if I did not act, I knew I would soon find myself without her. Astoundingly, I could not even bear the thought of it even then. And so I had invited her for an afternoon walk as I argued with myself on whether my scheme should ever pass my lips.

The silence that ensued between us then was suffocating; I had no inkling of what to say. If I laid my scheme upon her feet hastily and tactlessly, rejection would clearly be in my horizon, and I did not wish it even for a second. I had hoped she would accept unquestioningly, yet I knew very well that Jane had the right to objection. And I had not been wrong. When I had so artfully and purposefully driven our conversation into my seemingly well-begotten proposal, to say that Jane was petrified was an understatement, and it had hurt my soul to see it.

I had her believe that the proposal was that of service to God, yet I knew very well it had not been so; this was almost purely out of my own mortal selfishness. “Almost”, I would claim, for she was indeed of a character perfect for a missionary’s wife. Oh, my God-serving soul wanted her as well. And for it, I had prepared to conquer her opposition. I had prepared my arguments to convince her, assured her that this path would be right and just. I took great care in enumerating to her the qualities she possessed – that of a perfect missionary’s wife – lest I should slip in imparting to her the traits that appealed to my mortal being as well. I reveled in the fact that I seemed to convince her quite so, but it had frustrated me as she refused to marriage. When I told her that I believed enough of love should follow our future union, I had been referring to her; I knew very well then that I had already loved her as well as I knew her heart still belonged to the past. I had so wanted to coerce her into obedience but I chose to be patient. And cold.

I wanted to make her realize just how much she had wounded me by turning to her in quiet, veiled, cool animosity. I thought to punish her in all sternness and implacability. I chose to delay my journey to Cambridge to convince her more that she had decided wrongly. I knew very well that it was petulant of me to do so but I maintained our usual routine for a week, albeit coldly and without favor to her, and I treated and estranged her with a character fully extracted of interest and approval, chiefly to trouble her with grief – the very same she had subjected me to at her refusal. She might believe me incapable of such ruthlessness and vindictiveness – I myself had thought exactly the same – but there I was exacting a quiet vendetta from this enchanting creature.

My proposal of marriage took three times until Jane had at last succumbed to my glorious scheme the night I had chosen to turn my cold hostility into gentleness, and I was beyond satisfied. My efforts had not been in vain, and I swore to myself then that I would ensure Jane’s decision would not be meaningless at all; I would show her my feelings incrementally and exact her love when the time was right.

It was now I feared that I had waited too long to exact reciprocation. I had told her I loved her and she has yet to respond, though she had given me enough indication that she might feel the same. And although I had our marriage to hold on to, I feared I might lose her to her old flame; I knew enough to judge that it had been full of passion.

I have given her safe refuge in this marriage, and I had cause to believe she should love me now more than a brother. With adequate time, I believed she should love me as I had grown to love her. Yet I had not considered this event into the equation at all.

I tried to get a glimpse of her once more, and for a second, I saw her eyes studying me intently before they had been veiled once more by the shadows. My emotions were burning wretchedly and helplessly within me. Why did destiny situate Rochester back in Jane’s path? Why should our peaceful transit through this union be halted by the mere existence of this man?

Jane was perfect for me. She had given me the best for both my mortal being and my God-serving soul. She cared for me and treated me with enough passion as she did the same in helping me perform God’s work. My passion for her was no longer wrong nor was it a weakness, now that we were married. I was even in the right to cherish her now. But I knew Jane was not completely mine. Not yet. And the knowledge of it only terrified me so.


	12. Silence and Deception

My husband had been awfully distant since last night, and the mere knowledge of it had made me uneasy. He had been quite the terrifying sight: cold St. John burning with fire. He was a paradox in rage that I had grown hesitant about his presence in a matter of minutes; I knew his sisters had been as well, and _they_ had done nothing wrong. It had only been nothing but agonizing to endure his repressed silence once we had returned to Moor House and retreated to our bedchamber… 

I knew I should have broken Edward’s hold last night; it shamed me that I did not even try, that I succumbed to his presence, that I was _weak._ And I knew I owed this confession to my husband … but then I was also too certain of St. John’s bottled emotions; I have sensed them bubbling too dangerously near the surface and it appeared that one erroneous quiver might set his rage anew. He had done almost perfectly well in locking his emotions away when he had first laid eyes on Edward, but the littlest of waves that did manage to escape his well-wrought cage were substantial enough…

I slept through the night, but I was restless all the same come the bite of dawn. It was still dark out; the curtains were drawn shut and the faint rays of the early sun have yet to grow its assertion. St. John and I were meant to journey through town today. It had been such a merry plan… I wondered whether it still stood.

I turned to face my husband’s side of the bed; he was still fast asleep, his body angled to my direction. On a different morning, I would always find his arm entwined upon my waist. He had kept his hands to his own today, it seemed to me, and I felt my insides roil. Yet somehow, his angelic features brought me back to calm. Oh how I wish I should never see his coldness again. It was such an awful sight compared to this… But perhaps I only felt that way as it was I who had generated it. I sighed, and loudly, I presumed, for he began to stir. In a flash, I remembered how his blue eyes burned last night, and I feared to see it again once he opened them. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep instead, all the while capturing his calm sleeping exterior to memory.

There was only silence beyond the faint rustle of leaves as the cold dewy breeze kissed them good morning. _Perhaps he has yet to awaken,_ I mused, all too aware of the nervous flutter within my chest. But just as I was about to steal a second look at his handsome slumber, I felt his feather-light touch caress the side of my face, and I heard him sigh. He kissed my forehead ever so lightly – I even doubted whether it was just an innocent draft – but this delicate gesture encouraged me to meet his gaze at that moment. I slowly opened my eyes, still feigning somnolence, and his gentle face slowly swam into focus. He was looking at me intently, as though I was a book written in a foreign tongue. I wondered whether I should greet him good morning as I always did, but his continuous gaze only made me speechless. It was warm… and I feared he would remember Vale Hall if I spoke and I would witness the change in those eyes from warm to freezing cold. I knew I could not bear it if that happened.

We remained in that position for a while, not one daring to speak, only regarding one another measuredly, quietly. I longed to touch him, and as I reached for his hand, I felt his own clasp mine. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles softly, all the while gazing at me through his fine lashes. He inched closer towards me, slow and restrained, and I yearned to feel his warmth. I felt his arms surround my small frame and his lips plant a soft kiss on my temple, and I felt liberated. I sighed with content as I buried my face at the crook of his neck, faintly sensing the thrum of his pulse as I lightly stroked his throat with my trembling fingers. It was a while before he released me, but I did not wish it to end.

“Do you still wish to visit the town with me, Jane?” I heard him whisper, his eyes downcast as though he expected rejection.

“Nothing would please me more, St. John,” I answered just as quietly, and for the first time in a long time, I had not uttered the words out of courtesy. I meant them with all my heart.

* * *

 

We walked through the familiar path to town as the morning sun lit the eastern sky. The cold breeze was biting through the glove of my hand, but St. John’s grasp warmed my fingers enough. He was acting quite peculiarly, I should say, as he was warm and yet he was also distant, if such a predisposition ever even existed. 

We were off to bid our proper farewells: him at the church to leave some final instructions to his new replacement and me at the school with my Morton girls. _I sure would miss this peaceful abode,_ I mused as I trailed behind my husband’s cloaked frame, his right hand grasping his walking stick with his other hand never letting go of mine. Amidst the endless moors and the steady breeze of the cool morning, I felt safe. Despite St. John not speaking to me.

I never noticed, but I should have slowed my pace down for St. John craned his neck to appraise me, both curiosity and concern gleaming from his blue eyes. “Is anything the matter?” he murmured, his clear voice blending with the wind. “Have I tired you, Jane? Forgive me,” he said as I felt his fingers caress my cheek ever so gently.

I leaned in to the warmth of his touch before I shook my head in response, muttering an incomprehensible apology. I felt his hand move and tighten around mine once more as he began another steady pace, this time more slowly. Those were the only words he addressed to me the entire journey.

I felt helpless. The town was so near and we were like to part ways soon, and my husband has yet to speak to me once more. I halted several paces away from the nearest cottage, determined to begin a proper conversation. St. John only noticed when my hand slipped resolutely from his, and as he turned to look, I figured I did not know what I should say.

What was there to tell him? Should I tell him that after all that has happened, a small part of me still longed for Edward’s touch? And that that morsel had its shameless respite last night? Should I impart to him that I knew I should have broken Edward’s hold and yet I knowingly leaned to his touch in the tiniest fraction of the moment? Should I tell him all this and only hurt him? _No… I cannot,_ I had decided almost as instantly as I asked myself.

There was nothing to say. I am married to this man; he is my husband and he loves me. Whatever – _whom_ ever – I longed for beyond this marriage was lawless and distasteful, and I should identify myself well past it. _I should. I should._

“What is the matter?” St. John queried, his eyes identifiably turning cold.

I cowered from his icy gaze. This was what I wished never to see again, and I could not return his stare. He stood only a couple feet away from me and I sensed him burning. My heart fluttered restless beneath my chest and I could hear my pulse throb between my ears as I stared dumbly at his dust-covered boots. I scolded myself for stopping the otherwise peaceful walk. We would have parted ways silently when we reached the town proper, and this exchange, if I were to call it so, would never have happened.

St. John closed the narrow distance between us and held my shoulders, leaning his walking stick to his chest as he gently shook me back to reality. “Jane. Look at me,” he commanded, his voice adamant but low.

I obeyed and looked to him once again, this time summoning enough courage to brave his piercing gaze. He was my husband, after all – we are equals. I sensed his blue eyes reaching for something deep within me, yet I could not identify what it was he was searching for. He looked as if he wished to speak, yet his mouth did not even twitch. _Not a timid smile has yet passed those lips,_ my thoughts longingly moaned. I missed my husband and a day has yet to pass, but I could no longer bear the loudness of his detachment.

“St. John,” I murmured with a voice too small that I wondered if he would hear it beyond the blowing wind. His features minutely softened at the sound of his name and his eyes… his eyes had a flicker of warmth once more. I cleared my throat and swallowed my nerves. “Last night—“

“—should be forgotten” was his hasty reply. A storm of emotions went rumbling beneath the glaze of his eyes. He paused, as if he had not intended to speak the words, and looked down as he drew a deep breath. “Jane,” he began, looking back into my eyes, his voice strained. “We must forget the ill events of last evening. We are close to leaving this place. We shall start anew. If we have to.”

My eyes widened at his solemn response. He was calm; the rage I had thought about him was in fact lacking. His eyes _had been_ burning, but with a different brew. “Forgive me of my imprudence, St. John” was all I could think to tell him for I saw a sliver of anguish in his internal turmoil. At the sound of my words, I saw his agony come clearer into view. His emotions had surfaced relentlessly upon his cool countenance; there were only too many.

He released my shoulders and turned his back on me. “There is nothing to forgive. Is there, Jane?” he asked the eastern sky quietly. I could not answer. I could not explain to him what I had felt last night, not without straining our bond. He turned to me fractionally as my silence only dragged on. “Answer me,” he implored.

“No… Nothing.” I inwardly tormented myself at the blatant lie that passed my lips. I felt him study my eyes, and again he searched them for something. I feared he might see past my deceitful response, but I maintained my gaze. I did not wish to hurt him, and I _should not._

“Is that all you wished to tell me?” he inquired further, and I nodded, despite the guilt that gnawed within me. He drew a deep breath and slowly let it out before taking my hand in his once more. “We must get going then.” And I followed his pace quietly.

St. John brought me towards the path that led to the school. A handful of my girls were already trudging along the dirt playfully. These were the early little birds, my best scholars, and I could not help but smile. I should miss them when I left for India. _Three days._ I sighed. I realized I did not wish to leave this place if I could help it.

“They should miss you, too,” St. John uttered as if he read my thoughts. “Go along now. I shall call on you by noon.”


	13. Expectations

“Should you really have to go, ma’am?” Alice Wood asked innocently, wrapping her arms around my waist. She had been my attendant when I still held the post of schoolmistress, and one of my best students as well. There was a small throng gathered at my feet; I had dismissed them early for lunch and they had decided to interrogate me of the upcoming trip before they left.

“Yes, Alice, I must. A good wife accompanies her husband in each and every one of his endeavors. It would be good of you to remember that as well,” I answered gently. “Run along now or you’d be late for Ms. Wright’s afternoon class,” I said to the handful of girls that remained in the schoolroom. “I shall think on you girls and I shall feel nothing but pride,” I smiled, and they all grinned back at me, my heart swelling with content.

I watched by the stone steps as the girls left in clusters, walking down the path; there were several times I found one or two waving at my direction, and I would wave back just as eagerly. When the last ones had disappeared beyond the horizon, I reluctantly replaced my waving hand to my side, and I felt lonely. There was nothing left in the horizon, not a lark in the sky. I was alone. Ms. Wright herself has yet to arrive.

“Leaving, are you?” a fluid voice erupted from where the trees stood near, and I froze. I did not need to look at the source to know who it was; and, honestly, I had not been surprised that he was here, no matter how conceited it might have then seemed of me. “India. Did I hear it correctly?” he continued.

“Eavesdropping is an ill sort of manner, Mr. Rochester,” I answered him, mustering enough coolness to dominate the morsel that craved his undivided attention. I was determined not to succumb to his presence once again; I had figured I should be strong enough to cast my illicit emotions away.

“I had not gone here to receive a lecture on manners, _Ms. Eyre._ ” He stressed the last two words quite heavily as he walked quite serenely towards me.

“Rivers. It is Mrs. Rivers now,” I almost snapped for I simply believed I no longer needed to remind him of the fact. My new name had made all the difference in this world at this very moment. And a small part of me regretted it.

The resulting look on his face was a sort of surprise; he must have been appalled by the gall of my retort, although he merely laughed it off. “Yes, yes. _Mrs. Rivers._ ” The name rolled off his tongue as though it purely disgusted him to even say it. “You ladies and your maiden names. Changing names to announce status to society. _Married—_ ” he scoffed“–Tell me, would you change your name back if you turned a widow a day from now or maybe a year?” he rambled as he grew closer, a faint hint of brandy reaching my nose. He had been drinking and was possibly intoxicated. “Gentlemen do not get the same honor in names; I never cared for it much until now. You see, bachelor, married, or widowed, I remain a _Mister Rochester_ ; and all I wish at this very moment is for you to remain a _Miss_ Eyre,” he whispered.

“What have you come here for, sir?” I asked politely, deeming his mood too volatile with the influence of spirits. He had been standing too close and it was quite disarming; I could sense my walls crumble at his presence, despite my desperate attempts to rebuild it.

“You,” he drawled nonchalantly, reaching for my hand. I had enough sense to step back and away from his reach. _I shall lose my senses if I let him touch me once again,_ I helplessly thought _._ I had left him once before, and it had taken all of my soul’s strength. I feared if he went on, I could no longer do it again. He sneered. “A year ago you would have melted into my touch,” he stated all too arrogantly, his voice cracking beneath his careless smirk.

“I’d have accomplished restraint if not for your deception, sir,” I challenged quietly, a familiar indifference rising within.

“She’s dead,” he pleaded, a quick contrast of his earlier confident drawl. “Jane, she’s dead. She had thrown herself off the balcony and freed me a couple months after you have left. It would have all been perfect. My life would have been what I had always wanted it if only you had not vanished.”

I stood frozen. Bertha Antoinetta Mason was dead? What game was fate playing at? This… this had to be unreal. A lie. A desperate lie to get me back. But that was out of the question, wasn’t it? _It should be. I am married to a good and honorable man._ “My deepest condolences for your loss then, Mr. Rochester,” I found myself uttering instead, fastening myself to courtesy and manners; a much safer route in this case, I deemed. Appealing to my former master’s ingrained gentility was sure to keep him from being rogue, I assumed, although I expected only a little.

He laughed emptily. “I did not come here to implore consolation for the loss of a wife. But I welcome your sympathy for the loss of my bride. I came here to reclaim her – you, Jane… come back to me.”

“You are talking nonsense, sir. I fear I do not understand you at all.” My voice had gone unsteady in trying to be ice and rock to this man.

“Of course you do,” he answered passionately, closing our minute distance until it was almost non-existent. “Come away with me, Jane.” He leaned nearer and murmured behind my ears, the smell of brandy mounting stronger, and I had to shut my eyes for I dared not move; he had grown too overwhelming. “I have no care for your status, just tell me that you are once again mine. That you have always been so.”

I straightened at his words as I formed my reply, staring directly into his burning eyes, his breath warm against my brow. “That would be a lie then, for I am married, sir. If I were to belong to anyone, that would be my husband; my humble wedding vows would clearly attest to it.” I estimated myself triumphant at my own stony response. I felt I only needed to maintain my assertion and I should be able to relinquish my lawless longings. The part of me that wished to come away with Edward was almost close to extinguished.

But he only waved my arguments away, as though they mattered not a whit. “Yes, yes, you are married. You keep reminding me.”

“Because it seems you have not grasped this fact as yet.” I worriedly looked to the path for it was almost noon. If St. John found Edward here…“You must leave now, Mr. Rochester. My husband would be along soon. You have met him last night.” I found his eyes, hoping that the subtle reminder of St. John’s rage would take, despite knowing full well it would not have made the slightest impression with the master of Thornfield Hall.

“Let him come and watch me take you away,” he declared brusquely, only mirroring my expectations too promptly. “Come with me, Jane! We shall ride to the ends of this earth until no more of this demanding society could impose its rules upon us! Why should they have that right? I shall be yours and you shall be mine, as God had intended it to be.”

It was a tempting offer, I had to admit. The glowing embers of my almost forgotten passion had gone burning, albeit with a low fire; I had still recognized that I was married to a decent and noble man who loved and cherished me. “No. If it was God’s plan, you would not have found me married after you have been widowed of your own wife. Or I would not have left you two months before she had died.” His passion had grown ever more palpable, and I knew full well it was a risk to negate him, but I had to. _More for my sake than for his._

“Then let us leave God out of it! Forget I even mentioned it!” he exclaimed as he grasped me by my waist, taking me to him in a tight embrace with one fluid motion. “Come away with me, Jane!” he said as I tried to squirm to free myself despite his unfaltering hold. He was growing desperate, I knew, and precarious. Oh, how I wished St. John would arrive; I had indeed hoped that my husband’s presence might make this decision effortless by a mile, just as his presence did last night. Besides, I hadn’t the slightest notion of how to subdue Edward; weeping was simply out of the question.

Edward Fairfax Rochester had been reduced to an impassioned drunken gentleman. And I felt it almost unlawful to even think that. I loved this man. _I still do,_ my heart confessed and my thoughts instantaneously embodied chaos. “No,” I said out loud. To whom, I did not know; but Edward had construed the answer to be for him and I was both thankful and filled with regret as I witnessed his pained reaction.

He looked at me long and hard and I turned my eyes from him, trying to assume and maintain collection. “Do you love him, then? Does your heart belong to him now?” he asked in a deathly quiet, his hold losing its determination. And I could not answer. I had no answer. Did I? Did I love my husband? I should… I knew I should and I knew I could. But _did_ I love him? _Yes,_ a small voice answered, almost unheard. The same voice gave me enough strength to free myself of Edward’s slackened grip; and he had released me without any defiance.

“Do you love him, Jane? As you loved me?” he repeated. And I echoed his question within. Did I? _No…_ my thoughts answered in painful remorse. “Have you changed? I look at you now and my heart yearns for your touch; do you no longer feel the same? Is there nothing left in this cold new heart of yours? A fragment? Even a morsel, for I am a beggar; I shall take whatever I can draw out.

“You are my sweet happiness, and when you had left me, my only companions were remorse and despair,” he confessed surprisingly calmly. “I tried to seek for you, and yet I knew you would never have wanted to be again found. But Fate had given my heart reprieve! Alas, I have laid eyes on you once more, my magnificent one, and I had counted the days. Indifferent and apathetic though you have become with your fancy dress and bejeweled neck and, even more disappointingly, a fair husband was dangling at your arm.You have named them unnatural once before, I seem to remember, but here you stand, amethyst-laden and elegantly clad.

“Is this to be my penance? To forever look upon my heart’s desire and know she can never be mine? You are different now, Jane, but you are not cruel. My heart still yearns for you, and you alone it shall until my finite life dwindles from this mortal flesh. Come away with me and I shall fill your days with joy. My sweet promises I lay back upon your feet, fresh and tainted no longer; all of them I shall fulfill without a moment’s hesitation. I have no care of your status; it is only a piece of paper, an easy thing to forget. I offer you my hand, Jane. Accept it as I beg for yours,” he finished, succeeding in grasping both of my hands in his as he took them to his chest.

I was speechless, staring at him with wide-eyed bewilderment. He cannot mean the vile words coming out of his lips. How could he? “You do not realize these words you speak, sir. They are unlawful,” I managed to convey after a moment, too quietly as though I feared someone might hear.

“You have not been listening to me,” he insisted, tightening his grasp around my palms; his hold was beginning to hurt me. “I have no care of yo—“

“No, sir, please don’t,” I interrupted. I cannot hear him say those words again. Those words only served to murder my conviction. “You must leave.”

“No,” he uttered as he drew me to him once more, this time roughly, though I knew it was his passion that made him act so. “Deep in that heart of yours, you still love me. Tell me you still do.” His eyes burned through the depths of my soul, and my conviction had faltered.

“Yes, but—” He had not permitted me to finish for he had proceeded to crush his lips against mine, his arms also crushing my frame closer to his. In a moment of surprise and folly, I had not a choice but to permit this to happen. His lips felt familiarly warm, his growing passion too overwhelming; but the call of my reality was only too strong and I had to pull away. “This is wrong, Edward,” I gasped, fighting his powerful hold.

“No,” he exclaimed hastily. He moved to kiss me once more, but this time I had anticipated the action enough to turn my face away.

“Please leave,” I implored. My emotions have begun clouding my judgment. How foolish of me to think I could withstand him! I never could. Not entirely, no. It was utterly ludicrous to even think so.

“If you think I could leave you in that man’s arms after this, you are gravely mistaken,” he declared. “I cannot lose you again.”

I could only whimper inwardly. _Oh, what treachery have I done?_


	14. Moors, Town, and Wind

I had left Edward at the school and had run desperately away from him. My tears had begun to cloud my eyes as I felt his hands slip their grasp in surprise. It seemed I was again running away from my heart's desire; and yet this time it was I who bore an impediment to what is now an otherwise lawful reunion. Why had Fate decided to be cruel?

I ran blindly towards the path, unknowing whether Edward would run after me. I prayed to God that he would not; the task was already too difficult without him pulling me back. I had to escape his tempting propositions or I might grow weak and accept them. He had mentioned he had no care of my status. Well, I cared. I  _was_  married. I had to keep reminding myself of my husband.  _St. John, forgive me…_ I cried inwardly with anguish.

I had only stopped after I had gauged a far enough distance and spotted a boulder I could lean onto when my knees had grown weak; I could no longer see the humble building when I looked back, and Edward seemed to have not followed me. I sighed in honest relief which quickly transformed into heaving sobs that got lost in the wind. I was thankful that the panorama was deserted and I prayed St. John would arrive later to give me enough time to compose myself. My thoughts and emotions were only too disordered, and everything had been too overwhelming; what with last night's events and St. John's earlier conduct, and now Edward's revelation… It was only too much.

I had to ask why… Why was this happening to me? It was shameful that I regretted marrying St. John at the present time. I regretted the fact that I had rushed into his proposal only to realize that Edward had been seeking for me and that he would find me not three weeks into the marriage, fully emancipated of any impediment. I would have welcomed him with open arms had I not been married myself, I admitted. And the thought of it only served to fuel my upset once more. St. John was good to me. He had been my shelter, my sanctuary… He had provided me peace and he did not deserve any of my current unease; he had not given me any reason to. In fact, he had provided me with every reason  _not_ to. He was the right choice; he was the good one… and he was  _my husband._  It shamed me that I had to keep reminding myself of this simple fact. I had no right to be confused for I have no choice. I took a holy vow…  _I love him…_ the earlier voice that gave me strength enough to resist Edward's hold seemed to whisper, reminding me of its presence.

_But Edward said…_ a small voice chirped, on the one hand, and I had to denounce it. I had to… it was wrong and lawless and vile.  _I have a husband,_ I declared inwardly, trusting to crush whatever hope the small voice started.

My thoughts only dove into a vicious cycle from there, and I had resolved to nothing. I was even surprised that my eyes had already refused to shed any more tears after a while. Any clarification was far beyond the horizon, yet I had grown peculiarly calm and detached. Perhaps I had grown tired or perhaps I feared St. John should find me in that state… I wiped my tear-stained cheeks clean with a handkerchief and stood straight, discarding any more upheaval and instantly wondering where St. John might have been. It was well past noon, it seemed, yet I have not seen him.  _Where could he be?_  Here I found that fixating on my husband's whereabouts was an oddly sufficient distraction.

I looked to the path and found it too quiet; there was no one in sight and it seemed too lonesome. Forcing myself into adequate composure, I had decided to walk the remaining way back to the town and figured I should call on St. John by the church instead.  _Perhaps he had lost track of time,_ I thought absentmindedly. He did have the tendency to do so whenever he did his work; he was only too passionate about it.

The walk was entirely uneventful, a small event I had taken gratefully for it seemed to calm me and rid me of any source of confusion. I figured it should be due to the fact that I was doing the right thing. I was going back to my husband's arms where I rightfully and lawfully belonged. Yet some sort of fear did brew at the back of my mind as the church grew nearer: I knew not what would happen once I saw my husband again. Guilt was starting to gnaw on me at every step. I had indulged Edward of an illicit kiss, no matter how short it had been, and I had permitted it to render my thoughts disarrayed. I wondered if I could keep it from my husband without him suspecting something was amiss. Now I somehow wished the remaining three days would draw to a rapid close; I felt I had to escape Morton when earlier I had regretted having to leave.

As I stepped past the churchyard, my heart had begun to thump restlessly. I yearned to lay my eyes on St. John, hoping it should calm my senses; the mere sight of him always had. I walked past the double doors and strode instead towards the back where the meager office and lodging were situated. I took a deep breath before I knocked on the wooden door, and heard the familiar steps on the wooden floor as someone paced to bid me enter.

It was not St. John but the man who could only be his replacement who welcomed my sight. I knew not his name, and neither did he know me. He furrowed his brows. "Good afternoon, Miss. What might I offer you?" he asked. He seemed out of his element, for some reason. He clearly did not bear the same demeanor as St. John did. And I inwardly admired my husband at the stark contrast.

I gave him an encouraging smile, if only to ease his seeming nerves. "I have come to call on St. John… Mr. Rivers. Is he here still?" I politely asked. The replacement had yet to invite me inside.

"He had left, Miss. Who should I tell him asked if he returns?" he replied.

It was now my turn to furrow my brows.  _Where could St. John be?_  "Oh, it shouldn't matter, I suppose. Thank you, sir," I managed to say, not waiting for any more reply as I quickly retreated, no matter how discourteous it might have seemed. My feet led me across the churchyard and out into the road once again. I looked to the direction I had come from and tried to search for St. John.  _Did I miss him on the road?_  I asked myself although it seemed unlikely.

The sun was high up, and I had just then begun to feel its scorching heat for the clouds had cleared. I had decided to walk up to the bread shop a little ways down the road for some form of shelter. I figured if I had indeed missed St. John, I should see him pass by the shop's window on his way back to Moor House. I had entered the shop and its owner immediately recognized me; I had come here before with Diana and Mary, and I had taught her daughter at the school. She bid me sit down as she went inside to fetch me a glass of water, which was only too welcome. I had not recognized how thirsty I had gone from the long walk and the shameful emotional upheaval.

Once the lady had returned, I thanked her. I drank the water and was grateful that it had been cool as I scanned the bread that neatly lined her display, wondering which I should purchase to earn me a seat long enough to wait for St. John. I put down the glass empty, feeling my thirst quenched, and pointed to a delicious-looking shortbread as I worded my request. The lady smiled and reached for it, situating the cake in a delicate-looking china before placing it in front of me. She asked if I wanted some tea with it, and I affirmed. It seemed not too long ago when I had stumbled into this very same bread shop without a penny to my name, and I thanked God of my good fortune.

I ate in silence, taking in small bites of the shortbread as I watched the window for St. John's familiar stature. But I had already finished the cake and the tea in a dragged fashion and St. John had yet to make an appearance.  _Where could he be?_ I asked myself a tenth time, knowing no answer.

I waited patiently and was startled as the bread shop's clock chimed thrice. I had been waiting almost two hours and the lady had begun casting me curious looks, though she was well-mannered enough to disguise it. A few minutes more and I had decided to leave with only a growing sense of unease. It was not like St. John to go back on his word; perhaps something had gone wrong…

I thanked the lady before I had left, handing her my payment in slight excess to cover for the long wait I managed to put her through. She bid me farewell with a broad smile. As I stepped on the road, I looked to the school's path once more. Nothing.  _Perhaps he had gone somewhere else in haste: a parishioner in need or something of the sort,_ I rationalized. I was far from appeased but my mind considered the thought. I decided then to walk back to Moor House on my own.  _At the end of the day, he would go home after all, wherever he might have gone,_ I surmised with slight disappointment.

I arrived at Moor House flustered in the wind; I had left my travelling cloak in the school in my haste to leave Edward, and in great misfortune, the evening breeze had decided to be unforgiving. Hannah hurriedly brought me inside and situated me at the nearest fireplace she could find. The early evening winds had been too sharp for me and I worried I might have caught a chill for I felt too weak and strained. She had left me a moment to fetch me some tea, and I asked her of St. John when she returned.

"I thought he should be with you, Ma'am," she answered confusedly as she handed me a soft blanket to warm me some more.

_I thought that too,_ I answered inwardly. "I had not seen him since morning," I whispered and she only looked at me with growing confusion.

"Something with the church, mayhaps," she surmised passively before she excused herself (she was making dinner, I assumed). Yet somehow, I doubted this conclusion. Something was amiss.  _Where could my husband be?_

A/N: Next chapter next week :)


	15. My Reward

Alas, I had convinced myself to return to Moor House. It was well past midnight, I supposed, and I had not informed anyone of where I had gone. I had not known where I wanted to go. I had only wished to be alone as I had experienced my dreaded events come to life before me – I had lost Jane… and it was all too soon. 

_“Deep in that heart of yours, you still love me. Tell me you still do.” I had heard a man’s voice and I froze. It wounded me to realize right then whose voice it was, and all it took for confirmation was a fleeting glimpse while I concealed myself once more behind the dark yew. Rochester was holding onto Jane for dear life, and I knew what he must have been feeling at that moment, taking her into a deep embrace. I had acquainted myself with that feeling very well. It would take away all reservations, all weariness…_

They had not noticed me at all, _I thought bitterly. I had left the church early for I had felt miserable about the way I had acted around Jane this morning, and our parting felt only too unnatural. I had planned on giving my wife a proper tour of the moors and the hidden crevices where I had once sought solitude before we left the town for good. And I wanted to go back in time to only a couple days ago when all I ever really wondered about was whether India remained to be my vocation and whether Jane could endure the taxing journey and the hostile climate. It was quite vexing how one evening could change everything and nothing._

 _I had desired to make my presence known for I felt as though I had turned a mere shadow, drifting in the wind, and not getting anywhere. The short spectacle that I had indulged myself to see had proven devastating and was etched in painful detail onto my mind’s eye. I wanted to run to Jane and drag her away from this contemptible man, but my feet would not permit me; they had planted themselves solid between the slithering roots and fallen leaves as I started to realize how Jane never attempted to break Rochester’s hold._ No, not even last night, _I added inwardly. I sensed my knuckles scrape against the rough of the bark as my body propped itself hard onto the tree trunk with a soft thud, and the pain of it was only evanescent compared to the growing disquiet that had begun ripping through my core. I strained to hear my wife’s response amidst the moor winds instead, praying to God that I might appreciate what she might utter._  

 _“Yes, but—”_ _I heard Jane answer, and my heart was crushed. My limbs seemed to have a mind of its own from then on: I felt myself walking quietly away the moment I recognized that my wife had responded to Rochester’s kiss – another picturesque reminder of my asinine illusions of a happy marriage._

_I knew I had a right to my wife, and I could have exerted it right there and then. Why I had not was entirely unclear to me as well; yet somewhere amongst my interspersed thoughts was one that shouted loudest: Jane still loved Rochester. The revelation only made me weak, all my high hopes vanished. I had wished she might learn to love me, made myself believe she was beginning to, and yet here I was, struggling to flee from her captivating presence as she was reunited with her old flame. I was nothing but an intruder to their passion – a mere obstacle. An unfortunate insurmountable obstacle._

_Later, I had found myself amidst the vast moor, wishing I could lose myself in its expanse as I strayed off the roads; I was only too frustrated that I knew the lands like the back of my hand. I walked aimlessly through it, willing myself to feel nothing but exhaustion, only to be disappointed. My heart had been shattered to pieces and the shards were too sharp for mere physical pains._

_I did not feel hatred for Jane; I only pitied myself. I had led myself to believe that our marriage could run past this unfortunate situation, and I could not have been more mistaken in my life._  

I walked past the wicket fence and pushed open the heavy wooden door unceremoniously. I had not expected anyone to be awake at this late hour, and Mary’s presence startled me.  “What happened to your face? Is that a bruise?” she paused as she brought a candle nearer to get a better look at me. “Wherever have you been, brother?” she asked worriedly, her face drained of color. 

 _Perhaps she should tell me Jane had not returned. She’ll never return, sweet sister,_ I thought miserably and I could only look to her in anticipation of the worst. 

“Never mind that,” she muttered too quietly. “Jane has fallen ill. The doctor has yet to arrive.” 

“She’s here?” I uttered weakly and with relief, and my sister only eyed me in confusion. 

“Wherever else would she be? She’s upstairs,” she answered curtly as she hurriedly turned to leave the passage. 

I was astonished to learn of Jane’s presence and I was perplexed. I had braced myself to find an empty bed tonight before I had decided to return, which in truth was the entire reason I had arrived in the dead of the night. It was difficult to come to terms with; in fact, I had resigned from even attempting. But Mary says she is here. _She is here…_ I rejoiced inwardly as I tackled the stairs two steps at a time, as though she would vanish if I did not get to her abruptly. It was only when I had reached the landing that I realized the essence of what my sister had told me. _Jane has fallen ill._  

I rushed the remaining steps towards the master suite. The hall had been dark, but our bedroom streamed light from within at the wooden floor. I opened the door hastily and immediately found Jane lying motionless at the four-poster bed. She was too pale in the darkness of the evening, and I had hoped it was only the darkness indeed that made her white as fresh parchment despite the burning fireplace. My sisters were situated near the fire, and they stood quietly as I strode towards my wife. 

I sat at the side of the bed and reached for Jane’s hand – it was cold. I felt her forehead and it was burning. “What happened?” I murmured, watching my wife’s faintly flushed cheeks, and realizing that this time I did not adore them. They made her look too ill. 

“She had come flustered and uncloaked, St. John. We worried she might have been robbed or something of the sort and had lost consciousness out of nervous tension, but her coin purse was intact,” Diana answered. “Hannah said she had been asking of you when she arrived. We have yet to know what she has succumbed to.” 

Suddenly, I felt wretched for leaving without anyone’s notice. Especially Jane’s… She had come home looking for me… but I could not raise my hopes just yet. Just because she had found her way back to Moor House did not at all mean she would find her way back to me. She had said it herself, she still loved Rochester. And if she did, then she could not possibly bear any love for me. I felt a new wave of pain at the thought, and was only too thankful when the doctor arrived with Hannah. 

I let the old man examine my wife quietly and carefully. I watched him count the pulse at her wrist and listen to her heartbeat. He also listened intently as she drew shallow breaths, and only then did I realize that she seemed to be gasping for air at random instances. 

“It’s only a chill, doctor, is it not? Just like the last time?” I asked the old man quietly, knowing entirely that this was false hope. Jane had not been like this the last time. She was weak but she had been conscious. I could not even bring myself to look at her long enough now. Her face was too flushed and peaceful except for the fits of gasping breaths; it was too disquieting. 

“It seems to be pneumonia. Her fever is too high, and her pulses are too rapid for a simple chill. How long had she been unconscious?” the doctor asked professionally. 

“We don’t know,” Mary responded, and I spun violently towards her direction. _How could you not know?_ I wanted to scream in anguish. Mary looked at me knowingly, willing me to be calm as she continued. “Hannah left her for a couple of hours, she says, and found her unconscious. She only thought she might have been asleep. It was I who found the shattered teacup at her feet.” 

The doctor nodded grimly at the information. “The servant had mentioned Mrs. Rivers was uncloaked when she arrived. Exhaustion and exposure to the elements and at this time of the year too, there is no wonder; although this seems to be too fast a progression,” the old man continued as he rummaged on his bag. He brought out a dark vial and handed it to me. “This should bring the fever down. Five drops every six hours. She might not appreciate the taste if she gains consciousness; then you could have her take it with some tea. In fact, it would be most proper if you fed her anything she might wish to consume. Call on me if she remains unconscious or if she worsens. Call on me when she awakes. I should arrive within the hour.” 

“Alright. Five drops, six hours?” I confirmed, and the old man nodded. 

“You have a pocket watch, I presume?” he asked. I brought out my father’s pocket watch. It was old but it still ticked. The doctor merely glanced at it approvingly. 

“Won’t you stay the night, doctor? At least until she regains consciousness? We have plenty of room,” Diana offered and I inwardly agreed. It would be better for Jane if the doctor remained. 

“Pardon me, Miss, I cannot. Mr. Oliver have already commissioned my practice for the week.” I watched as my sisters’ hopefulness deflated, and the doctor turned to me once more. “I would strongly advise against any travels, Mr. Rivers. And you might wish to have that bruise and those knuckles mended as well before an infection sets in; I trust the ladies should know what to do. Good evening,” he declared grimly, eyeing me fractionally in a knowing manner, before he exited the bedroom with Hannah escorting him. 

Once the doctor had left, Mary and Diana came up to examine me. “What happened to your face, brother?” Diana inquired, though I could not bring myself to answer. 

“And your hands! What happened to your hands?” Mary exclaimed in restrain as she held my palms nearer to the light. 

I would never have noticed the dried blood on my knuckles. “The tree, perhaps…” I muttered absentmindedly. Diana muttered something incomprehensibly with concern coloring her tone before she had left the chamber. 

I could not think clearly. The doctor’s last statement felt too heavy. Was this God’s answer to my growing reluctance of India? I could not decide whether it was punishment or reward. I still have my wife, but she is ailing… along with Mr. Oliver’s guest, I presume. A flash came back to me at the thought, and I suddenly remembered how I acquired the bruise on my face… 

_I was walking away when something grabbed onto the back of my coat and pulled me back forcefully. I had almost hit the ground, but my knees felt too mechanical as they supported me. “Rochester,” I said in recognition, only to welcome a wordless blow in reply._

_“You had no right. You forced her,” I heard him utter, and all I saw was red._  

“St. John,” Mary called me back to the present, and I turned to look at her direction. I had not realized that I had been staring blankly towards Jane. “What happened? Why weren’t you with Jane?” she asked, full of concern. 

I could not bring myself to answer. I could not admit to my own sister that my marriage is crumbling before her eyes, that Jane’s illness seems a gift to me. She cannot leave me yet… I have a few more days… 

“I must undo the arrangements. I must write to the ship’s captain,” I said almost too abruptly, and Mary was stunned. “You heard what the doctor said, Mary. We can’t travel, Jane and I.” 

“That could wait, St. John, for sure,” Mary said quietly, attempting to appease me. “Here, sit down. We must clean this…” she said as she examined my hands. “You can tell me what is happening, St. John,” she murmured. “You are acting quite… odd.” 

And I could only look at her helplessly. I knew not where to start… I thought I have lost my wife. I think I must have caused Mr. Oliver to hire the old doctor for a week, but I was not certain at all. Now, Jane is ill and she’s still with me, and we can’t travel to India in three days. I felt liberated and was ashamed for it.


	16. Derision of Morton

“Who was it? Was it St. John?” I heard the newly wedded Rosamond inquire in hushed tones just beyond my bedchamber. I knew she had not volunteered to watch me out of the goodness of her heart. She was waiting for the old doctor to return for information of the cursed man, and I could only scoff in pure disdain. Every socialite in last night’s evening ball had been whispering of her enduring affections for the missionary; one need only open their ears to hear it. I am certain she married Granby for his wealth. Scathingly, the woman reminded me very much of Blanche Ingram. A softer, finer version, but a pretty machine nonetheless. 

 _What a flimsy boy,_ I thought. _I only managed to land a few miserable blows upon his cursed face and he sends for a physician. Pathetic._ Only it was I who was even more pathetic, although I tried very hard not to think on it. _I_ was the one knocked out and bloodied. Loss and blood left a bitter taste in my mouth when I came around with the missionary nowhere to be found. And the vexing courser that had thrown me off its back on my drunken ride through town was the nadir of it all. _Pathetic,_ I spat inwardly as I regarded my now-bandaged ankle with contempt. 

“No, ma’am. It was Mrs. Rivers,” I heard the doctor answer politely, and I strained to sit up straight and hear more despite my aching body. Was Jane the only Mrs. Rivers in this despicable place? I hoped not. Why would she require a doctor? She was perfectly well until she had decided to run away from me and to her _husband,_ as the sorceress kept reminding me. 

“She’s with child.” I heard Rosamond declare confidently, and how I called on the God that was supposed to be Almighty at that moment for it to not be true. A child would ruin everything permanently. I knew I was near to convincing her to come away with me, and _that_ was precisely the reason she ran away. I was sure of it. That vexing woman was still _my Jane._ I still knew her. She would run towards what is right, towards this– this _husband_ of hers, but she was still completely mine in essence. She has said so herself and I would hold onto it until my dying breath: she still loved me. If only she had not run away, my heart would find its peace. 

“No, no. A fever is all, Mrs. Granby. There’s no need to burden yourself over it,” the doctor said as he opened my bedroom door, and I had to let out a sigh of utter relief. “Has Mr. Rochester’s fever broken?” 

“Yes,” I heard her murmur, the dainty lady never crossing the bedroom’s threshold. “Forgive me, doctor, but I fear I must retire. I shall call on a servant to assist you.” I had to admit her courtesy was impeccable, but I could not help but sneer. She had just confirmed my theories, and I had to applaud myself on another character well-read. If only I could read my Janet just as easily, I could only hope that my heart would at last be filled with my long-elusive happiness. 

The doctor quickly strode towards my bedside, and the light clearly shined on his weary, line-drawn face. I chose to remain quiet as he felt my forehead’s temperature and counted my pulse. “Well and good,” he declared. “Just the sprain now and the bruises and you’ll be on the mend.” 

I only stared back at him blankly, and he seemed to grow uneasy. “If I didn’t know any better, I could swear you and Mr. Rivers were in a bit of a scuffle,” the old man quipped with a kind smile in an effort to lighten my dour mood, but he did not receive the same kindness from me. I despised every little thing about this place. If only Jane would leave with me sooner… 

“Enough of this nonsense,” I glared at the old man, wordlessly urging him to report on what I had asked of him earlier, yet he only regarded me questioningly. “Well? Did you manage to do what I should pay you to do, then?” 

A hint of recognition finally reached his eyes. I swear to God, I do not believe this man a doctor at all. They are supposed to be brilliant, aren’t they? “Well, yes. Any doctor would advise it on such conditions, Mr. Rochester. The young lady _is_ weak and not fit for any such travels. There’s – There’s no need for payment, sir,” he responded, brows furrowing from curiosity he could not mask. 

The thought satisfied me enough: Jane’s forthcoming journey to India is providentially deferred. It is only a fever, after all; the benefit weighed better than the risks. I was almost certain a shadow of a smirk has grazed my countenance; the doctor has certainly noticed. “Very well, then, if you say so. You may leave. I wish to rest,” I said, dismissing him with a flick of my hand, yet the old man did not stir at all. This doctor was trying my patience and it was infuriating. The gall of this man! I was not used to having my commands glanced over and ignored. 

“Mr. Oliver wished me to watch your progress, Mr. Rochester. And, as much as I would want to lie on my own bed for the night, I am bound. Our host can be… very persuasive.” He smiled, though no longer kindly. He merely looked at me before turning to one of the chairs by the fireplace, which only infuriated me more. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. I wanted to cherish my somewhat satisfying encounter with Jane, no matter how brief and ill-planned it had been. 

This was not at all how I had imagined my reunion with my bewitching elf. This was too irritatingly far from it. I had not even imagined I should see my Jane so soon last night. I knew she was in Morton – I had successfully extracted that piece of information from Briggs a few weeks ago, and that was precisely the reason I even left Thornfield and accepted Oliver’s timely invitation – but I had not known she would be in the damned party. I never even expected it. It had to be the most difficult encounter I had ever the misfortune to endure: expecting to meet the newlyweds and greet them goodbye, eager to begin my search at first light, only to discover my dear Janet with a handsome gentleman in tow. 

My world had stopped dead in its tracks last night for certain. I had envisioned my sweet imp in fancy gowns and precious stones, but I had learned not to hope to witness it in my existence; she had sensibly trampled those blameless expectations of mine the very first time they even escaped my lips. And to behold her at last so elegant and exquisite… I had to remind myself to breathe despite my awe and the vexing presence of the man standing so closely beside her. Their intertwined fingers never helped either; it only served to fuel my growing rage. Those fingers were once only mine to hold. 

The mere sight of her has indeed also renewed my burning passion – not that it had ever gone – and all I yearned for was her touch to assure me that she was real… _My real sweet Janet._ I was afforded that chance, alright, but not before my inner world was shattered to pieces. It was of utmost efforts that I kept a calm exterior; and I do believe there is an accolade waiting for me somewhere in a far corner of this earth for it. 

I remember smirking at Oliver’s introduction of the missionary, and invisible sprites wiping the sneer away when Jane was introduced as the fair man’s newly wedded wife. The blow of the knowledge was almost fatal. A year. Only a year has passed and she had gone married, the witch! Oh, how I hated her right then! She had left me in misery whilst she had gone and sought herself a husband for her own! What of her oaths and promises and vows? _Completely forgotten!_ I shouted inwardly, momentarily forgetting it was I who caused Jane to run away. 

I even thought her different last night, transformed into a creature I could hardly recognize. She wore a ball gown I had never imagined she might consider for her garb: too intricate, too exquisite, too rich for her previously abysmally ordinary taste. She attended parties now as well, when I would not have even wasted efforts to ask her before. But all of those I could forego, without a doubt, for I admired her in this attire and I would find carefree comfort in her presence at these gatherings if I could ask her to come with me. What infuriated me on top of everything else was the damned amethyst dangling at her neck. It shined and sparkled with her every movement and it caught my eye each and every time, declaring its presence, taunting my patience. 

Why, a sane person would ask, should a little stone anger me so? It served its purpose, undoubtedly; it made Jane look more beautiful than ever have I seen her. But it seemed to me more of a statement than anything else. She had once named jewels “unnatural and strange for a Jane Eyre”, that she would rather not have them, but there the amethyst lingered on her neck, sparkling with every pulsation in her throat. The man they called St. John had changed my darling Jane, and I felt hopeless more than anything else at that moment. 

The man was clearly perfect. Why would Jane even marry him if he was not? Admittedly, she did consent to marry me once, and I was not even anything close to perfection, but this man is clearly different. This _St. John_ is my complete opposite: handsome, young, respectable. _Pious, no doubt,_ my mind added, smirking at the man’s name. A glance at him only served to further my dejection. Jane is changed for him. Ah, there was no competition, I was almost sure of it. I have lost her. But I had not gone all the way to this despicable place to go home like a miserable old dog with its tail stuck between its legs. 

 _Why had she married so soon?_ I kept asking myself as Oliver continued yapping on about his business ventures. I was keen on extracting the answer from Jane herself, but the cursed St. John would not leave her side nor let go of his hold on her. Rather, the damned man hovered even closer to her; I was mutinous when he claimed her waist and held her closer than ever have I done. God, the short encounter was a miserable test of patience and calm; and Oliver’s slip on the India notion did not help at all. I desperately desired to hit something, anything to cool my brewing anger and soothe my insecurities. But I gathered Jane had some sort of a reputation she had managed to maintain in this town, and I would much rather I did not do anything to tarnish it, no matter how difficult it might be. She deserved nothing of the sort from me after everything I had put her through. 

When the missionary announced their departure, I was desperate. I needed to talk to Jane. I could not bear not to. No, not after all this time. I have been searching for her for far too long. She has to know how much my heart yearns for her, how much I still cared for her. Oh, I managed to follow them discreetly, alright, and I jumped into the opportunity when the man had left her in the hall. _Yes, a little time is what I need,_ I remember thinking. 

She never spoke a word. She stared me down with those tear-welled eyes, but she never uttered anything. Even after I took her into an embrace and bared my miserable soul before her, she only remained silent. I felt disheartened at the cold reception then, and much more when Jane chose to be with her husband when he returned. She never even bothered to look back when she left, clasping his hand tightly as she walked away in haste with the Rivers man. 

It was enough to send me into a frenzy of self-deprecation; and the party happened to have an overflowing supply of strong spirits to drown my sorrows in. I did not understand Jane’s reaction at all. Why had I not received a response from her? Why was she in such a hurry to leave? She never answered my query; I truly felt as though she was coerced to marry Rivers. I was almost certain I could see it in her eyes; she was guarded around the man. But I am never certain with Jane. And yet, whatever the answers might be, they still would not change the fact that Jane was already married. I was not certain if I could dance around this fact as well as I was more than willing to dance around mine before. The circumstances seemed different at this light. 

The next thing I knew, I was riding down to the school before noon, all reservations about Jane’s marriage forgotten. I love her, for God’s sake, a piece of paper cannot change it. Rosamond was adept enough to point the way and impart that Jane was supposed to come down to teach as well; she was looking for more donations, I thought. I imagined it was a big institution. Surely, it was more than what Jane deserved to teach in, what with her admirable talents. And I was disappointed to see how tiny the so-called school was, and the girls it catered to. Was this the place Rivers settled her in? Where was his respect for my beloved? He let Jane waste her accomplishments in this miserable place! And it served to keep my burning rage all the more. 

The girls could not have left any sooner, I thought then; and just as I was about to lose my patience, I hear them mentioning Jane’s upcoming trip once again. I was furious. She was about to leave England for good and not a word would have reached me. Oh, but I was more furious with this Rivers. Why would he want to bring Jane to a forsaken land? The heat alone – neigh, the journey would surely kill her off. But the bigger question was why Jane even agreed to it. Ah! I was furious, terribly furious. More so when she referred to herself as a “good wife”. Was I to believe she actually relished being married to someone else besides me? No, I refuse to even entertain the thought. 

When the girls have gone at last, I had decided I’ve waited long enough. I was suddenly suffused with a kind of arrogance I never planned on imparting with Jane. Not when I wanted to get her back. It seemed false confidence on my part; a sort of defense I had unconsciously embodied. And I immediately regretted it at first light of Jane’s cold response. 

It was utterly ill-planned, my ambush of her, but it seemed I had no other choice. Here, her husband would be nowhere near her and she might speak her mind freely. And yet she only kept pushing me away and telling me to leave. My heart bled at each request, but I braved it all just to touch her, tell her everything I wanted to tell her, ask her to come away with me. Thinking about it now made me regret forcing my presence about her, but I also could not help but feel satisfied with the contact, especially whenever her confession would ring between my ears. She still loved me and that was enough to hear. The kiss we shared only mattered so much in comparison. 

I would have followed her when she ran away, but my eyes instead caught sight of the despicable Rivers and my fury went ablaze. I could not have mistaken him for anyone else; that was the same righteous stance I scorned the entire night last night. There was the man who so successfully halted my reunion with my virtuous elf. He was the reason Jane would not come away with me. He has bound her to him eternally whilst she still loves me; she never answered my query on whether she loved him as well, and, in this case, silence meant no. _That_ was clearly coercion. 

Running after the missionary was another one of my ill-planned actions. I was enraged and I had no one else to take it out on but him. It completely slipped my mind that the man was young, most probably still fit and agile, more so compared with me half-drunk. I found that bit of truth soon enough when he started pounding on me and I could not do much. I was drunk, I could not see very clearly once he managed to land a blow on my jaw. Then again, and again, until everything went dark. 

Thinking about it, stalling Jane’s departure is probably also in the list of my ill-thought plans. What good would it even give me whilst I am immobilized on a bed and disabled? Ah, I had no notion what I might do next. Jane is sick, she can’t travel, the doctor said so. How then could I – if ever I could – take her away from Rivers before _he_ takes her away from me? I had to think my plans through from here on out. It no longer pays to be rash. All it has provided me were a bleeding lip, a sore jaw, bruises all over, a sprained ankle, and _no Jane._  


	17. Guilt

I found St. John sitting slumped by the chair near the cold fireplace. He looked angelic in his slumber. He always did. I wondered where he was earlier, why he never came when he said he would. I could not remember when he arrived. I could not even recall how I came to be in our bedroom. Did he carry me in? The last thing I could remember was that I was in the common room, and the teacup had slipped from my hands in a small fit of shivering…

I looked at him again, trying to focus my vision; my eyelids felt strangely heavy, and yet it was already morning. St. John looked tired and disheveled; there were dark circles under his eyes. _And a bruise… Wherever did he get that from?_ He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday…

I could hear the birds chirping in the garden outside. I longingly hoped for clear weather that could last the entire day. Perhaps we could spend the day outside, St. John and I. It was a shame we could not do it yesterday; he had grand plans, I remember. But perhaps the packing could wait another day. Between us, there weren’t too much belongings anyway…

I struggled to sit up, catching my breath at the slightest activity, looking about as I did. The room felt strange enough despite its familiarity; it was as though a blanket of disquiet had just previously settled in the place. I remember thinking how I might have caught a chill last evening… I brought my palms to my forehead, feeling my own temperature, and I was confused. I seemed to be running a fever.

I looked back at St. John; he was still sound asleep. I loved looking at him while he did; I never did have time enough before he would awake. But today I had, if only I could remain silent enough. Yet the morning seemed too cold from where I was, and I had several blankets covering me. I knew he would get himself a chill if he remained uncovered.

I carefully climbed off the bed, silently creeping towards where my husband was, clutching a couple of blankets with me. I succeeded in trying to keep him warmer, lightly draping the sheets over his sleeping form, but I could not look at his slumber long enough despite how much I tried to muffle a sudden fit of coughing.

He seemed disoriented waking up. I watched him rub his neck with his eyes still shut. It seemed he was still trying to catch a dream. And I absentmindedly wished it was me he dreamed of… Then his eyes flew wide open, catching me too quickly that it was almost comical. “Jane…” I caught him whisper.

“There you are,” I gave him a small smile but he only stared, seemingly half-frozen, before he could catch himself. I felt a pang of guilt all of a sudden. Yesterday’s encounter with Edward came back in rapid flashes. _He need not know,_ I thought. _He need not hurt because of my weakness._

He straightened up swiftly as his focus came clearer. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly as he stroked the side of my face with his right hand. I could not help but lean into his touch, but he seemed too quick to withdraw his hand despite the subtlety he clearly thought he showed. He took a pocket watch off his vest instead and stared blankly at it for far too long. “I’ll ask Hannah to boil water for tea. It’s– It’s almost time for your medicine,” he said after a while, freeing himself from the blankets I had just bestowed upon him.

The room was too quiet when St. John had left. I did not understand what had just happened a while ago. He was certainly acting odd and it kept tugging at the depths of my soul. But then again, he had been different since Rosamond’s wedding ball… I sat where St. John had been asleep only moments ago, curled my legs up and hugged them from beneath the thick blankets he had left dangling by the armrest; I felt cold despite the trickling sunlight. I felt cold inside and out. I wished St. John would return to his previous warmth as I breathed the scent he had left on the upholstery. I missed my husband terribly despite his palpable presence.

It was a while before I noticed the tearstains I had already left on the sheets. And it did not take long before the breaths had become too difficult to finish. Everything was simply too overwhelming, and the barrier that I have managed to salvage to keep everything at bay had collapsed on its own. I had done something my conscience could not accept – I had betrayed my husband. My husband who had been nothing but good and loving to me. _What have I done?_ I kept asking myself.

“Jane?” I heard him whisper as he quietly shut the bedroom door. He was back too soon. I sensed him stride his way through the room to where I was as I hastily attempted to clear any hint of despair. But St. John was in front of me too promptly, bringing his eyes to level with mine, reaching to gently wipe a tear off my cheek. “Are you feeling unwell?” he asked quietly, grasping my hand, his blue eyes piercing through the depths of my soul like they always did. It made me more uneasy, instead of the usual warmth it used to give me.

“St. John, I am sorry,” I blurted out without considering any thought. All I knew was that the weight of what happened yesterday was too heavy, and I could not bear to look at him long enough without asking for forgiveness. I felt his entire frame freeze at my apology and his hand had suddenly lost its grasp on mine. I had been terrified of looking at him the entire time but his sudden glacial response was adequate to afford me with enough strength to peer at him. I had to see him and make certain he has yet to hate me…

The look on his face had broken my heart then. It was the most emotion I had ever seen him disclose; it was no longer only beneath the blue chaos of his eyes, and it was such an agonizing sight. But then I watched him attempt a smile forcefully, and it only renewed my tears. “You don’t have to be sorry for being sick, love,” he whispered. “I am only too glad to take care of you.”

“Oh St. John, I am sorry,” I cried, burying my face on his shoulder, guilt weighing down on mine. I sensed him kiss the top of my head and I could only sob louder. I felt the succeeding breaths start to be too difficult to make in between fits of coughing, and my head had slowly begun swimming…

“Shh… stop, Jane, don’t say that… Hush, love…” I had heard his voice crack. He had extracted my small form from the armchair and had brought me back to the bed. I thought the mattress too soft for my wicked soul to deserve the comfort it provided, the same way I thought St. John too affectionate for my treachery. But did I have to tell him of it? He was clearly already in distress and I knew perfectly well that it was the wedding ball that had a notable part in bringing his spirits down. Was I to add to that? Was I to make him feel any worse? He has already withdrawn from interacting with me. He would abandon me if he knew…

He had laid me on the bed and had only remained standing by the bedside. I could feel his eyes watching me but I could not bring myself to look at him now. I am a cheat. A woman no better than an adulterer. And I do not deserve him at all. “Oh, forgive me, St. John. Forgive me,” I kept uttering between sobs, never letting go of his hand. I did not know whether he caught my words or not, but I had to hope he understood what I kept trying to say.

“Hush… darling, please… don’t say that…,” he only kept whispering. I could sense him delicately stroking my hair in an attempt to placate my sobs, but it had only made me feel worse. The heaves I made had begun to feel like a vice tightening on my chest, and I knew I deserved it. Even my own body knew to punish me. “Oh Jane,” I had heard my husband utter before he had decided to lie beside me, pulling me in a tight embrace.

Oh, I could feel his radiating warmth once more, and I knew it was unconditional. I could no longer live without it; oh, how I knew that now. But I am sure to lose my husband if he finds out about Edward and I don’t think I can… _I love St. John and I cannot bear to lose him. Why had I just recognized that now?_

 

 

A/N: I apologize for the late update. And it's quite short, too.


	18. Exultation

I am losing her. In front of my very eyes, I am losing her. Her tears weaken my very soul. Her apologies shake my very being. There could only be one thing she would be too tormented about: she was going to leave me. Or worse, she would stay knowing she could never love me. I wished I could return to the past. I wished I could return to my dreams. There she was still mine. There she was happy and content with only me. She was not ill and she would look at me longingly. She loved me in my dreams… She would not stop telling me, and I would believe every word. 

I knew I had to be strong; it was the only way I might survive this fatal blow. But I also knew that it would have been a lie if I claimed that her distress did not break me. Everything about our situation broke my heart. If only I could force her to love me, I would, but I knew very well that I could not. And it hurts me more to forever bear the knowledge that my beloved wife loved another man. I knew I would free her from me if that would make her happy, but could I now when I loved her so? _Perhaps I need not write the ship captain of a withdrawal after all…_ I absentmindedly thought, and I could not help but smile bitterly. All has ended in only three weeks. This should be the punishment for forcing her to marry me. 

I looked down on Jane once more. Her appearance has calmed and her breathing had returned to normal. I sighed. I wished I could have had more days with my Jane. If only Rochester had come a week later, we would have been off to India and we would have been happy. _Nothing would have changed between us,_ I thought as I kissed her soft hair gently, wishing I could keep doing so for all my life, knowing I probably could not. If only Rochester had not come… I was almost certain then that she would fall in love with me as well, but now I have begun to doubt whether she ever _almost_ did. 

I was surprised to find her looking up at me then, her brown eyes instantly brimming with tears once more. I wanted to take her away right then and there; anywhere I could keep her away from Rochester’s grasp. I could not lose her, no. And I doubted if I had enough strength to walk away from her either. _She has brought me back to life, my Jane…_ I thought as I softly returned her gaze. 

Her soft lips moved as if to speak, but I could no longer bear to hear her apologies. They only made my heart heavy as stones. And I knew that if she would still have me, I might be able to convince her to stay with me and honor her vows… I gently caressed the tip of her chin, tilting her face to level with mine while I gauged whether she now detested the gesture. There was no indication. 

Ah, the kiss felt more than welcome when it happened. I imagined she wished the hesitant contact to last as she responded with the same blinded passion I had for her. She had inched ever closer to me, or I had to her; I could not tell. I was grasping onto her waist, and she was pulling me closer by the back of my neck. I was breathless; we both were. But we could not stop. I could not. I was suddenly confused, and yet I did not wish to stop even for a second. I was burning in the middle of a cold bedroom in this cold dewy morning and I was nothing but grateful. _When did Jane’s passion burn so differently from love?_ I thought, and I had to pull away. I had always supposed they were almost one and the same, and that was my blunder. 

Her eyes seemed to blur with inquiry. Her eyelids had been heavy with desire. But could I take her despite knowing she did not love me? Shall I remain deceiving myself that she might still reciprocate when I knew full well it was next to impossible whilst Rochester lived? Shall I hurt myself more? Ah, I knew I would for Jane. But how long could I expect my young wife to put up with me? 

“St. John…” she murmured and I could only close my eyes, imagining her voice filled with unconditional love. “It might be several days too late, but… I do love you, too…” 

I opened my eyes, half-expecting that I only imagined everything; that I had dreamed this moment out of sheer desperation. But she was right across me, staring me down with her soft hooded gaze, waiting for me to respond. My voice left me in stunned silence, but my heart was in exultation. I had a hundred and one queries, but at this moment, knowing that she loved me was well enough. 

“Oh Jane…” I whispered before I claimed her lips once more, and it was as if the kiss had never been broken. I pulled her small figure ever nearer towards mine, making sure she knew how much I loved her, _wanted_ her. She drew a small gasp, fueling my passion even more, as I nibbled on the softness of her jaw and her neck. My fingers fumbled with her nightdress, stroking her suppleness over and underneath the cloth, whilst her hands hastily undid the buttons on my shirt, her illness all forgotten…


	19. Consummation

_I opened my eyes, half-expecting that I only imagined everything; that I had dreamed this moment out of sheer desperation. But she was right across me, staring me down with her soft hooded gaze, waiting for me to respond. My voice left me in stunned silence, but my heart was in exultation. I had a hundred and one queries, but at this moment, knowing that she loved me was well enough._

_“Oh Jane…” I whispered before I claimed her lips once more, and it was as if the kiss had never been broken. I pulled her small figure ever nearer towards mine, making sure she knew how much I loved her, wanted her. She drew a small gasp, fueling my passion even more, as I nibbled on the softness of her jaw and her neck. My fingers fumbled with her nightdress, stroking her suppleness over and underneath the cloth, whilst her hands hastily undid the buttons on my shirt, her illness all forgotten…_  

He was attempting at gentleness once again. Just as he always did whenever we shared our marital bed. “Attempting” I would say for he has yet to fully succeed at the feat. “Oh Jane,” he murmured over and over as he ravished the length of my neck down to the dip between my collarbones not ungently. I could feel the warmth of his breath in between the heated utterances of my name, kindling my insides so violently while I could only tilt my head more to provide him wide berth. He had carefully unlaced the nightdress that had clung on to me for dear life and had thrown it so unceremoniously to rest on the floor as I witnessed his blue eyes grow dark with desire before he took me in his arms once more, his hand clutching passionately at the bend of my neck, his thumb tracing my throat while the other hand sought the curve of my back. 

“Jane…” he breathed once again as he roamed his warm hands along all that was rightfully his. I squirmed at the sensation of his hands tracing the contours of my breasts, cupping their fullness as he gently stroked the sensitive peaks before I watched him lower his mouth to suckle, engaging my pleasure with the intensity of his blue-eyed stare. I sighed as his touch lightly lingered where my waist and hips blurred, a sudden jolt travelling up my spine as he traced the curve of my hipbone, successfully palming the cinch in my waist as he deliberately pressed himself harder towards me, his passion invariably clear. I wanted to shy away from his stimulating touch at the same time that I wished it never to stop. Oh, how could I have not known that I had loved him so? 

My fingers fumbled with the buttons on his pants as I tried to free him from the restraining fabric despite his heated relentlessness at keeping contact with my now-bared form. The cold morning seemed like winter now in comparison to the warmth of his passion, and oh how I reveled on his sculpted physique once I had succeeded on uncovering everything. The sheets may have deliberately crept between our intermingled forms but his frame was completely bare and I could relish the taut square of his shoulders while his arms supported himself above me, caging me essentially with his body. 

He had closed the short distance between our lips once more, kissing me with unsuccessful restraint while I attempted to equal his fervor before his lips had started leisurely branding me with red marks all over the curves where his sly hands had been, and it had brought waves upon waves of pleasure. “Oh, St. John, please…” the moan slipped between my lips. I did not exactly know what I was begging him for, but it seemed music to St. John’s ears for he smiled his beautiful small smile as he looked up at me, his eyes glinting with some sort of deviousness a parishioner would have been shocked to see. 

He moved swiftly once more, climbing the length of my body from below, tracing back the trails he had left and renewing their flush while he inadvertently pressed himself to me some more. “Please, St. John,” I sighed loudly, knowing now what I was beseeching him for. 

My hands explored his body relentlessly as well, never seeming to know what exactly I wanted to do. I felt the taut sinews on his back, tracing the lines they made as they met on his spine, and I caressed the hard lines of his shoulders and arms, kissing his throat as I did, briefly appreciating the strong pulse of his heart upon my soft lips. He responded with an equally rousing groan, nuzzling my neck and graciously nibbling at my exposed skin, flushed with the pleasures he was bequeathing upon me. 

He had met my lips at last, and as his tongue conquered me, so did he and slowly. I moaned as the sensation of him filled me incrementally, unhurriedly. He groaned as at last his length filled me entirely, kissing me everywhere his mouth could reach me before he pulled back and started pushing into me once again. I could not help but moan and cling onto his strong shoulders as he filled me again and again, each time picking up pace minutely until he started taking me faster and deeper, forgetting himself as he grunted my name over and over with each thrust, ravishing my neck down to the valley between my breasts, turning each and every nerve in my body raw and fresh, our sweat mingling with each other’s. I clung onto the back of his neck tightly while my other hand clutched onto the sheets, the pleasure too riveting that it seemed to melt me from within. My senses were heightening at each turn as I too moved to meet his thrusts, arching my back as I could feel my summit coming nearer. 

“Oh Jane, please…” he groaned, his voice shaking with each thrust, pushing me onto the edge of bliss. I felt myself get lost in the sea of his blue eyes as he drove me into oblivion, feeling his release pulse along with mine. He buried himself deep within me as he nestled where my neck met my shoulder, giving me a rather chaste kiss there before he sighed in content. “I love you, Jane,” he whispered softly, almost to himself. I was aware of every breath escaping his lips as they warmly fanned the moisture of my skin, as well as the wild thrum of his heartbeat resonating from his bare chest. 

“I love you, St. John,” I said in return, grateful for this good man I had the fortune to call my husband, realizing he was the only right choice and he deserved to be happy again at last. We both did.


	20. A Clean Slate

My husband and I were supposed to leave Morton three days ago. A carriage would have arrived before the morning sun broke the eastern sky and would have brought us and our meager luggage to the town proper where a coach would pass through and bring us to the busy London port. Then we would have met at a “sailor’s café” with the ship captain with whom my husband had been in correspondence the last few months. There the ship captain would have personally led us to his vessel and to our cabin that was so recently approved to accommodate two instead of one. My “peculiar” pneumonia, as the doctor himself had put it, had foiled those plans. And to Mary and Diana’s satisfaction, no doubt, for they never wanted us to leave in the first place. 

St. John had been occupied in making and undoing some of the arrangements he had made the past couple of days. He had written to the ship captain on the morning of my… _overdue confession_ … and to my utter astonishment, too. (I never realized the trip to India was to be deferred until the letter had already been posted.) I was terribly sorry to have caused the suspension of St. John’s plans as I have told him many times over, but he had also confessed that he had been nursing doubts about the journey and had even called my sickness to have had “God’s hand”. 

I am, in fact, fully recovered, discounting the rare episodes of coughing which St. John had completely capitalized on to forbid me from going beyond Moor House’s fences or even helping with some of the household chores. It all seemed amusing for the first few days, but the idleness of my morning had already started to be bothersome today. I looked through the latticed window from inside the master chamber and searched for St. John’s familiar speck in the horizon; he was off to the town church early this morning but he had promised to make it in time for lunch. It was only a matter of minutes now, I assumed, and he would surely want a cool beverage once he arrived. 

I have to say I relish caring for my dear husband, now more than ever. Knowing how I truly feel for St. John and admitting it at last had given my heart reprieve. My soul had never felt lighter since I had left Thornfield; although I have undeniably yet to experience true freedom until I have made certain of Edward’s acceptance of this fact. I wished him well – and I always would – but I feared my heart would never be mollified if I had abandoned the story of us so utterly unfinished. It would keep tugging at my heartstrings if I left it so, and I so wished to be able to unconditionally turn over a new leaf with St. John… whom I start to see at that very moment. 

I gathered my skirts in a flourish and rushed downstairs, keen on welcoming him home. He had mentioned that he savored whenever he would find me waiting for him as he opened the door, and I was always too glad that his warmth had returned. And yet as he entered the threshold this time, his appearance only worried me. No, he was not injured, nor did he look as though he had just encountered a dark soul, and yet he seemed to me most anxious still. Despite his attempts at a calm façade, he could not fool me. “Is anything wrong, St. John?” I had asked, concern undoubtedly resonating from my own voice. 

St. John looked at me in an almost-well-disguised surprise before affording me a small amused smile. “There is not,” he answered, feigning a light tone though I was far from being convinced. Something was clearly bothering him. “I would rather discuss it after lunch,” he added, and I was satisfied. Perhaps I was merely making mountains. _Days of idleness has made me so,_ I concluded. 

St. John attempted to cheer himself up during the meal, and yet his anxiety was only too perceivable for me that I had wished Hannah no longer served the second salad for time, no matter how light and refreshing the greens were. I also noticed St. John dragging every bite as much as he acceptably could which only made me wish for the lunch to end sooner. 

When at last there were no more salads to dawdle on, St. John reluctantly escorted me out of the dining room and into the parlor where a small fire was already burning, quietly situating himself at the seat by the window and randomly picking up the book that Diana have been reading for a while now. If today were just like all the other previous days, he would already be holding up the book – any book – in an effort of reading random lines from it whilst he engaged me in an endless conversation that only the two of us found worthwhile. But today was not that day. I wordlessly waited for him to finally say what bothered him so much, but it seemed he would not speak at all; he was merely staring blankly across the moors now, the book lying helplessly open by the sill, which only made me grow even more uneasy. “St. John?” I meekly prompted him to speak, hoping he actually would. 

“I’m sorry, dear Jane,” he apologized as I seemed to have pulled him from his reverie. “You must be worried seeing me like this. It is nothing, truly, once you hear it. I just – I just don’t know how to put it decently now that I have already troubled you so unnecessarily.” 

I only frowned, conveying incomprehension. If it was truly nothing, he would not have acted this way at all. And convincing me otherwise perplexed me even more. 

He remained wordless for a time again before he seemed to remember he had not told me anything yet. He cleared his throat before proceeding in an indifferent tone. “Mr. Oliver had invited us for dinner,” he declared, looking at my puzzled expression. 

 _What was too troubling about that?_ I inwardly asked. St. John disapproved the extravagance Mr. Oliver seemed to indulge himself, but he never disliked the old man at all to worry too much about a simple dinner. 

“His guest – Rochester – had regained his health,” he said the name evading my eyes. “Mr. Oliver wants to host a celebration apparently, along with our deferred journey to India. He was too cheerful and I could not decline,” he explained, almost apologetically. 

It was my turn to be silent then. I had not wished to confront Edward so soon and so… _publicly_. And with St. John in the same room, how could I even hope to manage? Edward despised St. John, I knew that. It took one look at the wedding ball to notice and one disgruntled mock of St. John’s name to confirm it. And St. John disliked Edward as well. I cringed inwardly as I remembered my husband’s coldness after my reunion with Edward. _But why would a celebration be in order?_ the rational portion of my mind asked. “Regained his health?” I repeated, waiting for St. John to correct me. He did not. 

“He – He apparently sustained injuries on…” – he cleared his throat – “on horseback. The – The same night that you had fallen ill. That was why the doctor has not been able to see to you properly; Mr. Oliver had commissioned his services to tend to him. To Rochester.” He stated the words uneasily, flexing and unflexing his hands as he did, the healing scars somehow glistening against the low fire. _He has yet to explain fully where he got those from,_ I idly thought, desperate for anything to fill my mind but Edward. “And again, Mr. Oliver was too happy about our trip. Or, well, the lack of it. So there’s that, too,” he added, trying for a lighter tone, and failing miserably at it. 

I knew I looked anxious. My hands were shaking, and trying to hide them behind me was nothing but futile; St. John’s eyes were too sharp. I felt the color drain off my face slowly despite trying to put up a brave one, both from the nerves and from knowing that St. John had sensed it. I did not know which piece of information troubled me more: the fact that Edward had been injured or that I was seeing him again so soon. I had actually hoped I would not see him, at least for a while. I was hoping I could lose myself a little bit longer in the isolated world I have just relived with my husband. But reality have always known to catch me off guard. 

St. John crossed the distance between us so swiftly before he held up my cold trembling hands and kissed them softly. “We wouldn’t have to go if you don’t wish to… at least, _you_ don’t have to,” he murmured as he took me gently into his arms. “Mr. Oliver knows you have yet to regain your strength. He will understand, surely.” 

I looked up at him hopefully at that. There he was, giving me a valid enough excuse, but should I take it? I have long been convincing him how truly well I have already become the last couple days. Would the possibility of seeing Edward undo that all of a sudden? _He shall think me weak and indecisive. I shall only seed doubts in him if I showed him how cowardly I am of facing the past,_ my thoughts echoed. Oh, I knew I could not have that. I would not. “I’ll be fine,” my voice was surprisingly whole, and my response was certainly unexpected to him. 

“Are you certain? I wouldn’t have you straining yourself, Jane, please. This was why I was anxious to tell you.” 

 _I would have to face Edward sooner or later_ , I convinced myself as I met St. John’s troubled gaze. “I’m fine, St. John. I have been trying to convince you for days now,” I smiled. “Let us allow Mr. Oliver to celebrate our deferred trip. It should be the least thing we could do since we left Rosamond’s wedding ball so hastily the last time.” 

St. John looked at me measuredly for a moment, as though waiting for me to withdraw my unflinching statement, but he would be waiting in vain. I had to confront Edward and clean my slate for anything to work with St. John at last.


	21. Seven Courses

A/N: I have decided to call Mr. Granby with the first name of Thomas. As far as I know, his first name was never mentioned in the novel, and if ever it was, well, do forgive my overlooking that part. I just felt a dinner this small would necessitate the use of first names especially amongst those who are of similar age (Rosamond, Granby, Jane, and St. John). I also felt it quite rude to Granby if Mr. Oliver kept calling him by his last name even when he is already his son-in-law.

* * *

 

St. John and I were naturally the last ones to arrive for Mr. Oliver’s celebratory dinner for six. I had gathered from my husband during the short journey that Mr. Oliver was hosting the dinner for Edward, St. John and me, and Rosamond and her husband, Thomas Granby. It was a smaller crowd than I have been mentally preparing for since this afternoon, but my heart still would not stop pounding. 

I looked at St. John as a servant led us to the drawing room of Vale Hall. St. John looked terribly anxious to me, although he certainly would be putting up a good show for the others. The source of his worries were unknown to me still, and his silence had kept weighing on my spirits since we had left Moor House. I could not keep on asking what bothered him any longer for I have already inquired countless times and he had repeatedly responded “nothing” with a lusterless smile. 

I clutched on his arm tightly as the drawing room door was opened for us. Everyone was already there: Rosamond and Mr. Granby were seated opposite Mr. Oliver who was situated nearest the fireplace while Edward stood with his back turned looking out the window which at that moment showed a beautiful blanket of sparkling stars. The two seated gentlemen stood up at our entry. 

Mr. Oliver was the first to welcome us, pulling St. John in a tight embrace that one would wonder whether he was the son-in-law and not the dashing Thomas Granby. “So very happy, St. John! Very happy indeed!” Mr. Oliver greeted while St. John could only laugh tensely in return. “Feeling fine now, I hope, Jane?” Mr. Oliver asked as he turned to me, his smile warm and welcoming as he gave both my cheeks a kiss. 

“Indeed. Thank you, Mr. Oliver,” I answered with a warm smile. The old man might not be as discriminating as I once thought. He only ever really exchanged empty pleasantries with me before, and that was because St. John was married to me, I had assumed. Perhaps I was quick to judge. 

Rosamond sauntered to give St. John and me a kiss on the cheek, and Thomas Granby followed to shake our hands in greeting. “Mr. Granby, a pleasure,” I greeted Rosamond’s newly-wedded husband. This was only the second time I had seen him, the first one being at their wedding ball. 

“Please, call me Thomas,” he smiled kindly. I must say that that was the first time I had heard him say anything else than a greeting with my name or another’s tagged at the end of it. His voice was deep like the last echo one’s voice would turn into after talking into a deep well. And he looked the part of fair Rosamond’s husband as well. 

I saw Edward move from his darker spot towards the light of the fireplace and I felt my heart pound even harder. He looked painfully murderous from my perspective, with his lips pursed and his jaw taut, his eyes piercing arrows in my soul. “Rivers,” he muttered roughly, without even any hint of false niceties and I could only look at him disbelievingly. 

“Oh Jane, do forgive my guest, he does take some getting used to,” Mr. Oliver laughed uneasily as he caught the expression on my face. “And the doctor says he’s probably still with some pain, what with the accident that extended his stay. But I am glad he’s still in one piece and he has regained much of his strength at last.” 

“Glad to be rid of me soon, are you, Oliver?” Edward softly castigated with an awful smirk on his face. _Oh, ever the ill humor he has._  

“Oh, no! On the contrary, dear man! On the contrary!” Mr. Oliver exclaimed with a laugh. 

Edward ignored the older man though, and instead walked towards me, each step heavy and almost menacing. I had almost stepped back before I caught myself and he had held one of my hands up to his lips, bestowing a kiss on my knuckles. “It is a pleasure to see you again, _Miss Eyre._ But alas! it is Mrs. Rivers now,” he murmured just loud enough, his eyes never leaving mine. 

“A pleasure, Mr. Rochester…” I meekly returned, and I saw his eyes glisten (as though he was amused by the feigning of acquaintance that we were enacting). His hand never left mine, which would have probably appeared suspicious had it not been for the servant who announced that dinner was already served. 

St. John was quick to take my arm and escort me out of the drawing room and away from Edward then, following Rosamond and Thomas who were the first to march out. I had noticed Rosamond stealing glances behind her, and I assumed she was perhaps intrigued at the previous scene. 

“We can go home if you ever feel ill. Say the word, Jane,” I heard him whisper before we entered the dining room. I smiled up at him meekly and I watched him smile back handsomely, though it did not reach his eyes. 

When finally we were all seated, Mr. Oliver and Edward were situated at both ends of the rectangular table with us couples sitting across each other. I sat nearer to Edward and across Thomas for Mr. Oliver was resolute on having St. John sit by his side. 

Fresh baked bread was served with salt and butter first, and as I busied myself with buttering a slice, Rosamond had decided to stir some conversation while she sliced her bread in quarters. “I did not realize you knew Mr. Rochester before, Jane. If you don’t mind my asking, I am terribly curious how that even came to be.” 

“A mere acquaintance, I’m afraid. More of a hearsay than anything. You know whom I include in my circle, Rosamond. Not to offend you, _Mrs. Rivers_ ,” Edward cut in before I could even manage a response, and I was grateful despite the dripping sarcasm of his words. The story of the naïve governess did not belong in this table, nor anywhere in Morton, for that matter. 

“Pity. I was hoping for something novel and interesting. Surely St. John is, too?” – she looked inquisitively to St. John who only pursed his lips in reply – “Jane is relatively new to everyone here, not anyone knows of her roots,” she finished with an air of decadence only ladies who lived in wealth would have. 

“It should indeed be interesting. But perhaps another time, Rosamond. This dinner is, after all, for St. John and Rochester the Recluse!” Mr. Oliver interjected, with which Edward scoffed in reply. 

“I don’t know how to thank you enough for this honor, Mr. Oliver,” St. John said, visibly relieved in my eyes with the change of discourse. 

“Oh, pish-posh, my dear boy. You do know I never approved of you leaving Morton and I could never have hoped to stop you. You staying here in the end is certainly something to celebrate!” Mr. Oliver’s laugh boomed and soon enough St. John and Thomas were laughing with him. 

“That’s true,” I heard Rosamond whisper amidst the banter, and I couldn’t help but feel sad for her. It must be true then, what they were saying of her enduring affections for my husband. My gaze found her eyes and I realized how she was looking at me resentfully at the same exact moment, although it only lasted for a split-second. 

“Morton surely rejoices with me, my dear chap! And certainly the girls at the school are in celebration in your case as well, Jane,” said Mr. Oliver as he turned to me, to my utter surprise. I never figured myself interesting enough to catch this wealthy old man’s attention. I have indeed judged him wrong. 

“Absolutely, father. Jane is indeed well-loved by the girls,” Rosamond said with a sweet smile as she looked directly at me. Now I was wondering whether I was wrong with her eyes as well, although that did not change the unease her gaze seemed to proffer. 

“Do tell us more, Rosamond. I have heard praise of Jane’s accomplishments here and there, in my short stay here,” Edward urged on. “I’ve a notion this little school of yours hardly befits Jane’s talents. A waste, if you ask me –” 

“– a noble sacrifice,” said St. John defiantly at the same time the servants arrived to clear the plates. There was nothing but the busy chink of cutlery and china for a moment until the servants had left. 

“Indeed, if that is how you would wish to put it,” Edward sneered condescendingly in the resulting quiet, ensuring everyone in the table heard. I watched St. John’s frame tense in silence at that retort, and the servants had brought bowls of cream of barley before any one of us could respond. 

“I hardly think of it as a waste,” Rosamond rescued the sour conversation once the servants had taken their leave. “Morton School is decent enough. I make certain it is, and will be more in the future. As had St. John before he handed the reins of our – I mean, _this_ – venture to Jane.” 

“And rightly so. I could never have hoped to find a better person suited to the task,” St. John stated as he stared directly into my eyes. I was enveloped by a radiant warmth at his gracious words, and suddenly it was as if it were only St. John and I who existed in the lovely dining room of Vale Hall. 

“Evidently,” Edward uttered, swiftly destroying the haze that had engulfed between St. John and I. He looked grave from the periphery of my vision; I did not have enough courage to look him straight in the eye, but I was almost certain his gaze was fixed at me. 

“It is quite unfortunate that you found it necessary to relinquish the post, Jane,” Rosamond continued on. “It would have been very comforting to know that the school is in _your_ able hands.” 

“I am quite sure Ms. Wright does a fine job herself,” I answered with a small smile, remembering how much I had been sure to miss the girls. I would not have to miss them much now. _I must remember to ask Ms. Wright if she would permit me to teach the girls to paint again at times._  

“But surely now that you no longer are leaving for India, you’d most likely wish to have something to busy yourself with?” Thomas asked. I inwardly applauded his ingrained courtesy which was in stark contrast of Edward’s. Thomas’s manner of speaking had an air of someone kind _and_ born to wealth; quite a rare amalgamation of character and birth, in my limited opinion. I knew he suited Rosamond well, if only she would see it. 

“I would get by, Thomas, thank you. I am quite content with being a housewife for now, and it keeps me busy enough,” I smiled at him kindly. 

But Edward was quick to speak. “And what of your accomplishments? Shall they be left buried and rotten to the ground? Are they all for naught?” For some vague reason, I felt his statement loaded and heavy with resentment, as if he was talking about an entirely different subject. 

I felt his eyes bore deep into my flesh, engaging me to look at him and I did. “As I have once told St. John, they shall keep,” I said with a tight smile that would sway any thought of hostility but not discourage it. It took a great amount of nerve, gazing back at him as I worded out my response, and it took a great deal of restraint to not be sharp as to acquire unwanted attention. 

And it only took Rosamond a second to cast my composure to the ground in pieces. “You seem to know much of her accomplishments, Rochester. I now doubt whether you were only a mere acquaintance of hers as you have said.” 

“Town gossip clearly have worked to my advantage then if you should think I knew _your_ missionary’s wife more than you do,” Edward lazily countered, his wit too quick even for me who knew the truth, his words working like a stealthy double-edged sword – swaying Rosamond’s attention and working her non-secret affections into the conversation at the same time. And then I had slowly begun to realize how easy it was for him to weave false truths and diffuse uninvited attention. It was too easy for him now as it was too easy for him then. 

“To be sure!” Mr. Oliver’s laugh boomed around the dining room once more, and the others followed, diffusing the tension that had built up within me in a matter of seconds. 

The soup bowls were cleared off the table and replaced by servings of poached salmon with mousseline sauce and cucumbers. The dinner conversation had then only revolved on Mr. Oliver interviewing St. John of his newly set plans in the future, “now that he no longer cares for India”, as Mr. Oliver lovingly pointed out, much to St. John’s discomfort, in my opinion. There were no certain plans yet, and St. John was able to satisfactorily and tastefully convey the lack of plans to the old man, which must have been challenging for him. 

I was certain his cares for completing missionary work in Eastern soil were still intact, and only the unfortunate events of my being ill had deterred his ambition. To be labeled by Mr. Oliver as one “who no longer cared for India” seemed to me most insensitively hurtful. But St. John had chosen to receive it sportingly without offense, and I thought this was only because he knew Mr. Oliver and his substance to know the old man meant well. Soon enough, individual servings of fancy peach sorbet were being served in place of the fish. 

“And you, Rochester? Has my daughter’s wedding finally awakened you from social hibernation? Your vicious commentaries have always been rather entertaining and I would very much like to see you more in these parties once again,” Mr. Oliver kindly engaged Edward into conversation, despite the topic being too probing in my opinion. 

“Alas, I should, if I am to find myself a new wife,” he answered, much to my astonishment. I had realized then that the majority of Milcotte may have never known about Bertha before, but the entirety of the town should already know by now, what with the appalling halt of a scandalous wedding ceremony between their rich Thornfield Hall master and his ward’s governess. And if the whole of Milcotte should already know, then the whole of Edward’s society must have heard at least bits and pieces of the story as well. 

“Ah, the misfortune of losing her the past year is completely understandable,” Mr. Oliver said empathically with a short pause, remembering his own wife, I think. 

“I never knew, Mr. Rochester. My condolences,” Thomas said. 

“But a mere few knew of any of it. Much to my own loss than theirs,” Edward said quietly as he looked at me meaningfully. The dining table fell uncomfortably silent until the sorbets were cleared and the main course was served – lamb and mint sauce with creamed carrots and boiled potatoes accompanied by a generous serving of red wine. It was quite a festive dish, in stark contrast with the sullen curtain that had loomed upon its diners. 

“Well,” Rosamond said moments later, obviously displeased by the gloomy turn our dinner had taken, “I believe a change in subject is in order. Jane” – she turned to me – “I shall have you know of my plans of expanding Morton School’s grounds and elevating its curriculum. My husband has already pledged for the necessary funds, as well as some of my father’s friends. But I wish only to entrust the school in your hands once it is bettered; although I must admit I would much rather savor it if you were _part_ of executing the plans. You have first-hand experience in schools such as I am planning to achieve –” I opened my mouth to interrupt, to say Ms. Wright should be completely capable, but she only went on “–and Ms. Wright does not,” she finished as if she had read my mind. 

I was speechless at the generous and honorable offer, and I felt it was discourteous to flatly refuse. However, the doubt that gnawed on me at its presentation gave me enough reason to not accept the proposal at once. I was not certain whether my talents were fit to run a bigger institution. And I felt I should first consult with my husband privately before any decision was made. I looked to St. John and found that he was looking at me inquisitively as though he were attempting to read my expression, and when my gaze met his, he smiled encouragingly. 

I worded out my response very carefully in my head before saying it out loud: “I thank you, Rosamond, and I am honored. But I’d much rather mull this decision over than take on the responsibility with much haste. I would not want to disappoint anyone.” 

“I am certain you would not,” Edward muttered softly, and to Rosamond’s curiosity, I believed. She looked at him sharply (while trying at subtlety) as though she was trying to catch him in the act of being more than my acquaintance. “In fact, I would be very interested in putting up an investment at this school of yours, Rosamond, if the plans do takeoff,” he added craftily to sway Rosamond’s suspicious thoughts, at which her face instantly lit up. 

“No one could have worded a more diplomatic response than Jane’s at that, Rosamond,” Mr. Oliver lightly teased which made me blush, which in turn made the others chuckle. And just like that, the dinner conversation flowed lightly once more, especially after chocolate and vanilla éclairs were served for dessert. 

Mr. Oliver asked everyone to retreat to the drawing room for the coffee, giving the grandiose dinner an informal seventh course. Amidst the short journey from one room to the next, I found myself caught in a conversation about the potentials of the future school with a fully riveted Thomas and a persuasive Mr. Oliver on my taking the offered post. Edward had also found himself part of the subgroup as we entered the threshold of the drawing room when Thomas remembered and made certain Edward would keep his word of supporting Rosamond’s dear project. 

The following exchange of marvelous ideas felt like an overwhelmingly enjoyable wave, especially since it involved the welfare of my Morton girls. And as I looked behind me in the hopes of St. John partaking in the optimistic conversation, I see Rosamond clutching on his arm, pulling him towards the gallery, and saying something about showing him “the newest artwork her father had just acquired”. St. John’s eyes met with mine inquiringly, a resignedly reluctant smile half-formed in his lips, and I faintly nodded my own amused assent before I saw him disappear with Rosamond from the hall.


	22. A Work of Art

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Rosamond asked, her back turned on me as she looked admiringly at the painting. It was one of a sunlit meadow, the colors mixed perfectly to make the landscape look eerily enchanting and bright. And yet I thought Jane could do better art than this one. Admittedly, I have no extensive background regarding paintings, and so my opinion shall not matter. But I wondered why an old man such as Mr. Oliver would wish to procure himself such art. It seemed the taste was much too feminine. And then I realized it was most probably for Rosamond. The man would do anything for his only daughter, this I knew. 

“Yes, the work looks… splendid enough,” I answered blandly. I was never one for spending extravagantly for something as impractical as a piece of art when so many mouths are not fed. 

“But not for you, is it, St. John?” she quietly uttered as she slowly turned to look at me. “I am going away soon. Thomas’s estate has already prepared to receive us. A few days is all I have left here in Morton.” 

I did not know why Rosamond should feel the need to inform me of such personal matters. And I did not know how to respond properly. I looked at her questioningly instead, unsure of what she had expected me to say in reply. I was certain she was waiting. 

She sighed instead. “Tell me not to leave, St. John. Tell me not to leave Morton and I shall not.” She reached for my hand and I did not have the heart to tell her no. 

“Why should I tell you such impertinent words, Rosamond? You belong where your husband is,” I replied, frozen in such state. Rosamond’s actions have taken me by surprise. I would never have thought her capable of such… nerve. 

“I know you still have feelings for me. You try and try to hide it, St. John, but I can still see it beneath… everything,” she said in a manner as though there was a lump stuck in her throat. She reached a hand to caress my cheek and I had to step back. She was behaving too familiar now and it has gone rather disturbing. I thought she remembered herself at the sight of my reaction for she stopped her hand’s ascent in mid-air. 

“You forget yourself, Rosamond,” I warned her, silently praying she would retreat and recognize her wrongs. “I shall forget about all of this if you promise never to speak of it again. I love my wife. I adored you in the past, yes, but I love Jane now. You must understand this.” However far behind me I considered my feelings for her were, I could not help myself but feel guilty. 

“I do not understand, St. John, how all of a sudden it is her and not me. Why you settled to marry Jane when you have had my father’s approval from the very start.” She sounded desperate as she hissed the words inaudibly, as if she strained for every syllable to get out, as if she had long bottled these emotions. 

I fell silent for a while, not entirely knowing how I should respond to Rosamond. It was as if an entirely different woman was standing in front of me. I had thought I knew her, but I realized I never knew her at all. 

“Did she tempt you? Is that what this hasty marriage was? Did she manipulate you with her so-called virtue? She looks innocent enough to play the part, and living under one roof has made things easier if you should ask me,” she went on with such passionate displeasure, and to my downright disbelief. I had not realized that this was what the people may have supposed of my marriage to Jane. 

“There is no truth to your accusations, Rosamond, and you know it,” I said quietly. “Jane’s soul is pure. And I had believed yours was, too.” It may have been terribly impolite of me but I had to remove myself from Rosamond’s presence. Her assertions of Jane were simply repulsive. 

“St. John, wait!” she called, and I had a mind to ignore her but courtesy had gotten the better of me and I looked back only to find her already standing in front of me. “Forgive me, I… I am desperate,” she whispered. Her lips were upon me the next second, catching me off guard. I pushed her away almost immediately, yearning to escape her grasp. I had admittedly dreamed of those lips for an eternity. But that was in another life, when Jane has yet to awaken me. And the taste of Rosamond’s lips now was nothing but unsolicited. 

“I have no notion of what you have just done or why, but I will place the blame on too much wine, Rosamond,” I uttered quietly, trying to gather as much calm as I could muster. “I shall not speak of this, in respect of your own virtue and status, in exchange of your word never. To do this. Again.” I stared at her eyes long and hard, trusting the message would sink in, and I watched them slowly fill with tears. 

“What do you see in her? What is it with Jane that is not with me?” her voice started to crack. It was ungentlemanly that I caused her pain, but there was nothing to be done. Rosamond had to be put to right. 

I steeled myself in the midst of having to break her spirit. “I love her. With her I find meaning in my existence. I am now complete and happy.” I watched a tear fall and then another. “I suggest you learn to love your husband as well, that you might understand me. Goodnight, Rosamond.” I had not waited for a reply and marched on to the direction of the drawing room where my beloved wife would be waiting for me. 

I pushed open the doors myself, wondering where Mr. Oliver’s footman might be. I had expected to walk in on Jane and the others still in discussion of the school, and had decided to inch my way in quietly to avoid unnecessary disturbance, but the drawing room was as good as deserted, I had concluded quite hastily until almost instantaneously I saw them by the corner-most window and beside Mr. Oliver’s tall bookcase. I froze where I stood. There were no Mr. Oliver or Thomas. It was Jane locked in Rochester’s arms.


	23. Confirmation

_St. John’s eyes met with mine inquiringly, a resignedly reluctant smile half-formed in his lips, and I faintly nodded my own amused assent before I saw him disappear with Rosamond from the hall._  

“Jane, I remember now I wanted to consult with you the matter of student admittance,” Thomas called. I hurriedly proceeded as I was still further from the drawing room than all three remaining men and they were waiting on me. 

“Ah, yes. Admittance,” I heard Mr. Oliver. “I have a mind to accept only daughters of my fellow tradesmen and the like once the school is established well enough. Daughters of nobles, too, if they wish, but I highly doubt they would enroll at a school founded by a man of lower status. Of course, Jane’s girls shall not want; they are to be scholars under my grant if they are worthy. Rosamond and I have had everything planned,” Mr. Oliver finished with a flourish. 

“If they are worthy, Mr. Oliver?” I repeated. I felt the need to clarify what the future might hold for my girls. I had assumed that the girls shall certainly benefit from this planned school expansion, thinking the expansion itself was planned _for them_ , but I now realize that I might be wrong. The Olivers want a bigger school to cater for bigger fish in the sea. What then shall happen to my scholars if they find themselves unworthy of Mr. Oliver’s grant? 

“Of course! Why should I put them up for education if I am but wasting my finances? They shall be my new investments, I should like to think,” Mr. Oliver answered. “Oh, not to worry yourself too much, Jane!” 

I fell silent. I _was_ worried for my girls. But Thomas was not going to let me be with my own thoughts. “When might we expect your answer for the post, Jane? I am certain something can be worked out about the current students. Rosamond and I are leaving soon, you see. I should like to put the plans in motion before that,” said Thomas, quick to interrupt the momentary silence. 

“And I am leaving soon, as well,” Edward said calmly, his eyes looking straight at me. “I should like to know whether this school is worthy of my investment.” 

“Worthy? Why, of course, this school should be worthy, Rochester! It is, after all, Rosamond’s hatchling!” Mr. Oliver exclaimed, feigning a hint of disappointment at Edward’s uncertainty to finance the proposal. 

“Of course, Oliver. But, see, you don’t even have an accomplished schoolmistress on board at this moment, and Rosamond has so adequately relayed that your current one is inexperienced,” Edward answered so adequately. “If Jane shall refuse the post, I shall have to withdraw from these plans.” 

“Now, Jane, you must accept!” Thomas turned to me with a wide smile. 

“I shall call on you once I have decided, Thomas. I promise it won’t be long,” I answered the persuasion with a timid smile, fully recognizing the requirement in Edward’s conditional investment. 

“Oh, I shall convince you more, then! You wait here. I shall fetch the architect’s drawings upstairs,” Thomas said enthusiastically as he stood, turning to Edward before walking towards the door. “See, Rochester? The plans are more solid than you think! Rosamond never goes only halfway, she’s told me herself.” 

“Alright, my dear chap. Fetch these plans and convince them, we must,” Mr. Oliver laughed, and off Thomas went. 

A soft silence loomed after Thomas had gone, and Mr. Oliver had decided to light himself a cigar. He offered one for Edward but he refused. I, on the other hand, felt I was out of my league in the presence of two accomplished gentlemen, and there was nothing I could bring about with them in conversation at all. Silence was to be my friend until Thomas returned, I thought. 

I watched Edward stand from his seat and walk over by the table where all the coffee paraphernalia were sitting comfortably. This part of the dinner was to be largely informal, I presumed, for he merely took a cup on his own and filled it with the brewed beverage. He inclined his head towards me ever so slightly for his back was turned as he inquired with a smirk, “Would you like a cup, Mrs. Rivers?” 

“Yes, thank you,” I answered evenly. Civility was more than I ever wanted with Edward’s presence now. 

“And you, Mr. Oliver?” 

“Oh, I’ll make my own, thank you. After I finish my cigar,” Mr. Oliver said, smoke coming out of his mouth and nostrils as he did. 

A moment passed before Edward had wordlessly handed over to me a decent cup of coffee. I never expected such from hands that knew no work. I took a small sip and was delighted. There was only enough sugar and the taste was bittersweet; somehow different from what I was used to, but good nonetheless. 

“Ah, do you like it, Jane?” Mr. Oliver amusedly asked. “It is a rare find. Came all the way from Sumatra, that has. Or so the trader would tell me. Oh, nonetheless a welcome experience, isn’t it?” 

“Indeed, Mr. Oliver. Just the right amount of bitter and sweet. Although there’s something about it I could not place,” I responded, glad that I knew how to converse in terms of the delicacy at hand. 

“Oh, I’d presume you’d rather not know. I have hidden the facts successfully from my daughter, or else she wouldn’t be anywhere near us,” Mr. Oliver finished with a bellow. “Just know it is _the_ famous Sumatran coffee everyone high enough in the East Indies have been talking about. It is quite easily the most expensive cup you have ever tried.” Mr. Oliver beamed, visibly happy to have caused me a new rich experience. 

“Thank you for the opportunity, then, Mr. Oliver,” I replied, inwardly wondering what it was with this coffee that made it so special. 

“Don’t tire yourself out, Mrs. Rivers. It is nothing worth knowing, really, what goes on in the production of this coffee,” Edward interjected. I blushed. It was a wonder how he still knew when I was attempting to ponder on things. It has been a year. Surely, he has already forgotten my idiosyncrasies. “I still know when you are thinking,” he whispered just loud enough for me to hear, as though he had heard my thoughts. 

“Oh, dear God!” Mr. Oliver exclaimed seconds later. He had been making himself a cup of coffee, and it seems the cup had fallen over from the table onto the carpeted floor, spoiling Mr. Oliver’s waistcoat on its way. “Mason!” he called, and the footman immediately entered the room, confused at the commotion. “Run for a maid to fix this and call for my valet; tell him I need to change. And mind the carpet,” Mr. Oliver ordered. He turned to us after the footman had bowed and left. “Excuse me, my dears, I shall have to run and change for a short while. Forgive my inhospitality, but I am certain Rosamond or Thomas shall arrive very shortly.” 

And with that he was off, leaving only me and Edward in the room. It was easily the most anxious I have been in a while, especially since the last time I had seen Edward, he was intent on taking me back to Thornfield Hall with him. I had then inwardly resented the fact that I had let St. John take a detour with Rosamond. If perhaps I hadn’t, I would not be in this situation at all. I stole a glimpse at the door, hoping St. John would come in at that very minute. Unfortunately, he did not. 

“Waiting for your beloved husband to save you?” Edward muttered darkly. I turned to him and realized he had been watching me intently the entire time. I directed my eyes towards the floor, the most friendly thing I could look at, at the moment. “I leave for Thornfield Hall tomorrow evening,” he quietly declared. “Will you come with me?” His tone sounded hopeful and expectant. 

“You know that I will not,” I answered almost pleadingly, desperate to have him fully understand that our chance had unfortunately passed. 

“Is it truly _your_ will not to?” he curtly asked, his eyes deadly with his stare as he slowly took a step closer to where I was. “I have told you before. It is only a piece of paper, Jane. And it doesn’t have to be Thornfield Hall. I can take you far enough away where a piece of paper won’t even matter.” 

 _Will he never grow tired of his evil schemes?_ my mind sighed. “I signed that piece of paper with all my heart. You see, Mr. Rochester, not every one of us is so willing to break a holy vow every now and then,” I answered him with ire. 

He stopped in his steps, visibly astonished at how vile my tongue had become. Even I was surprised at myself. I had never meant for the words to come out for they were simply uncalled for. 

He smiled bitterly. “Your honesty has always been refreshing, sweet one. But this one wounds me.” 

“Shall I have you hear it again? I would gladly oblige if only to make you listen at last,” I replied in a sharp tone, suddenly full of unrestraint. 

“For me to stop badgering you?” he countered, as he subtly, but still noticeably, walked the distance between us. 

“Yes.” 

My answer had stopped him in his tracks. “Do you want me to stop badgering you to come with me, Jane?” he asked quietly and slowly, as though he savored the taste of every word his lips muttered. 

“Yes,” I replied once again. Coldly. 

“Do you? Truly?” he asked, a taunting tone not well-hidden in his words. 

And I realized I did not have to let him go on. “Please stop, Edward.” 

“Why?” I thought a shadow of a sinister smile grazed his arrogant features. 

“Because it is a waste of breath.” 

“Is it?” He asked once more with a glint in his eye. 

“What else would it be?” I asked him, knowing full well that I was nearing exasperation. I knew I was only adding more wood to the fire, but something within me failed to hold my tongue. 

“I think it is working to my advantage. An advantage, at last.” 

“It is not.” 

“And how should you know, my dear imp?” 

I was at a loss for words, no longer knowing how to respond. _He had always been too arrogant_ , I said to myself. 

“You do realize that I would go this far and beyond to have you back,” he breathed just enough for me to hear. And only then had I realized that we were a mere couple feet away from each other. 

“No, please,” I uttered, hoping against hope that he would not dare close the distance between us. His presence still provided the familiar intoxication. 

“You told me you still love me, Jane. You’d best not take your word back. It won’t do you any good. The words can no longer be unsaid.” He stood still with his back on a window that framed the perfect night sky, casting a dark shadow towards where I was, his eyes directed pointedly at mine, daring me to say something. And yet my words failed me. 

I could not deny him. I knew I meant what I said that day. I knew I wanted to be with his cunning, his arrogance. Oh, I knew I loved him still. And yet I also loved St. John in an entirely different light. An entirely different intensity. To weigh one against the other was madness. To choose between the two was unthinkable. Yet only one fact matters most: St. John is my husband, and Edward is not. It is the one fact that kept on resurfacing and steeling my toes on the ground. 

I then realized I needed St. John’s presence to steel my conviction. I stole a quick glance towards where the double doors were. There were no signs of anyone and I suddenly felt nauseated. My knees faltered and I inwardly forced them to support my own weight. I failed. 

Edward was quick to catch my precipitously weakened form, and in the midst of falling into the haughty man’s arms, I watched his features transform from testing to concern, and then quite abruptly, to satisfaction. 

The sudden realization of what must have been happening had given me enough strength to find my composure. I pushed him away weakly once I have ascertained that my feet could stay planted on the ground. “There was something else on that cup of coffee,” I uttered in silent shock, accusation finding its way into my declaration. 

“There is nothing in there that would make you lie,” he answered, undenying, his arms still outspread as though he expected me to lose my balance once again. 

“Then I shall bestow upon you the truth you so wish to hear,” my voice trembled in both agony and awe. “I have loved you, Edward, and I shall forever bear the scars in my heart and gladly.” He stood quiet and my mouth seized the opportunity to speak, as though it had a life of its own. “Whenever the moment calls for it, I shall indulge myself in looking back and feeling as though I still lived in that time when my love for you was as fresh and passionate and profound that for a little while I would even believe it. But that is _all_ ,” I calmly said the words as I reached for his hand. “I cannot be with you, Edward. My heart truly belongs to St. John now. And I cannot thank you enough for making me see that.” 

He merely looked down on his hand that I had held, unspeaking for a still moment. And then his hand moved quietly to hold mine instead as he made it to touch the lines of his jaw. “What of my love for you, Jane?” he whispered, his eyes shut calmly as though he savored every second I was with him. “I cannot live with it if I am not with you.” 

I had no answer. It was a terrible conclusion, what was looming over both our heads, but it was inescapable. The fates had already decided. I had already decided. I remained quiet as I let him heed my touch in a similar wordless fashion, and for a moment all I could hear were the slow dragged breaths we both partook. 

“Is this what you really want? Have I truly lost you, Jane?” he asked after a while, a gentle hand raised to cup my cheek. “Is there no other way I might have you back? Protagonists whisk the heroine away in most stories.” His whispers were resonant with defeat, despite the seemingly last fighting spark he still willed to survive, and my heart had shattered for him a thousand times for it. 

“St. John is the protagonist to my story this time, Mr. Rochester,” I told him, a bittersweet smile curling my lips. 

“Sadly,” he muttered quietly as his eyes seemed to measure the depths of my own. His gaze lingered on me for a moment, moving from one plain feature to another as though he wished to put every detail into memory, his hand never leaving the side of my face. And I let him. “I have loved you, Jane, and truly. It is devastating to have to let you go. Yet perhaps this is all I had ever deserved after everything I had made you to endure,” he whispered as his hand slid slowly towards where my neck became my shoulder. “A taste… a mere taste of one as pure and intoxicating as you are.” 

His embrace was tender and full of affection, and I had indulged myself to reciprocate it, to at last put our story to rest. I let him hold me for a while, knowing that he sought comfort in my presence. 

“I leave on the morrow,” he uttered after a while, his voice whole but faint. He had released me from him then, his eyes suddenly too avoidant for me to even see. 

“I wish you a good journey,” I told him in the same silence for I truly did wish him well. 

“I had wished for more than a good journey ahead of me.” 

I had no words. And that was exactly the moment Rosamond entered the room, followed closely by Thomas who was cradling enormous rolls of paper in his arms. 

“What are you all doing suffering there in the dark?” Rosamond asked, seemingly irate. She walked past the coffee table and rang the servants’ bell. 

“We were just about to leave, Rosamond. Jane still needs her rest,” a very familiar voice said at a quiet distance, towards the other end of Mr. Oliver’s grand bookcase. St. John’s face was hidden by the shadows and his tone was as cold and dark.


	24. Our Broken Hearts

“Surely not this early, St. John? I was just about to show Jane the plans for the school,” Thomas had protested but St. John had already been waiting for me by the double doors. I meekly followed towards where he now stood for he had made his strides so very quickly. 

“Perhaps another time, Thomas. Although I suppose you might benefit more if you showed those papers to Mr. Rochester,” St. John replied, a blank gaze passing through where Edward stood. “He was to fund this project of yours if I remember it correctly.” 

“Let the man go, Thomas,” Rosamond hushed, her eyes not even once glanced towards St. John’s direction. “No one could ever sway him.” 

St. John had been looking at me blankly the entire time, waiting for me to reach where he stood. He proffered his right arm wordlessly and bid the others goodbye only so coldly. I had inwardly worried at how disrespectful this might seem to Mr. Oliver – leaving without saying goodbye to the host himself – but I was mistaken. St. John had merely escorted me towards where the grand staircase was and quietly bid me to sit in one of the couches at its foot. Then he strode a few steps away and examined a portrait that hung on a lavishly decorated wall. 

My thoughts were in disarray. I knew St. John had seen me with Edward, and the last scene may not have looked any more disconcerting to anyone who might have seen it, let alone my own husband. He had obviously not heard what transpired in my conversation with Edward, or he would not have turned so cold all of a sudden. I wanted to explain myself to him, knowing that I had to, but I hadn’t a clue as to how I might broach the conversation to my husband without sounding so full of guilt and fear of him at the same time. It was only too clear that he did not wish to talk to me, and the mere thought of it was excruciatingly painful and distressing. 

The sound of Mr. Oliver’s steps descending the grand staircase echoed in the loud silence engulfing me and St. John. My husband was quick to receive him at the foot of the stairs, and without much ado had said, “Mr. Oliver, my wife and I were just about to leave. I thank you for the wonderful dinner,” his tone expressing authority and subtly relaying he was not to change his mind. 

I saw Mr. Oliver’s face show surprise (and I also saw his valet pretending not to listen to the conversation as he stood behind Mr. Oliver). His eyes caught me as I stood from my seat to say my thanks as well, and suddenly the old man’s eyes mirrored concern. “Oh, of course, of course. You make yourself all better, Jane, and we can talk about the school another time,” Mr. Oliver said to me kindly before he turned to his valet and instructed him to see that a carriage be prepared for St. John and me. My husband did not anymore seem to have in him the will to protest such special attention. 

It took us another half hour before we were able to leave behind us the now-oppressing shadow that was Vale Hall. A half hour, said the grandfather clock that ticked loudly as St. John and I had sat quietly by. An eternity, said my torn insides as I had endured St. John’s seeming apathy. He had not uttered a single word since Mr. Oliver had left us to our own devices, only the occasional sigh every now and then which served to agitate me even more. 

I had no words to encourage him to produce his own, and so we both sat in silence as the carriage moved through the rugged road to Moor House dreadfully slowly. Understandably, the hour was late and the way was poorly lit by the now-hidden moon and the single lantern our carriage possessed, and so I could not have brought myself to be irritated by our speed, or rather, the lack of it. 

He had still sat beside me, and I could not yet decide whether I appreciated it or not. On the one hand, he hopefully had not yet found me repulsive enough after whichever portion of my conversation with Edward that he had witnessed. However, on the other, he had provided me with nothing to gauge his emotions by, as he had deprived me the free observation of his countenance (not that it greatly mattered for he was master at concealing emotions behind a cool façade). 

All these thoughts and, admittedly, the weariness that had started to creep in after such a tiresome day had made my lids heavy. For a little while, I had thought to disallow myself from being engulfed into the comforting nothingness that sleep offered, but then I must have failed because not a mere moment later I had awoken to a soft nudge and a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. St. John had scooped me from inside the carriage and was carrying me towards the door of Moor House by the time I had the sense to open my eyes. 

I had heard someone open the door for us. _Hannah, perhaps_ , I thought faintly. “Good evenin’, Master St. John. The mistress must’ve been exhausted, eh?” I heard the good woman say with her thick accent. 

“We both are,” St. John answered as he walked past Hannah. “You can retire now, Hannah. Thank you.” 

“But, sir, those corsets the mistress is wearin’…?” 

“I’ll loosen them. Don’t fret.” 

“But I’m afraid you wouldn’ know firs’ thing about corsets, master. Beggin’ your pardon.” _Oh, but he does, Hannah. Do not fret indeed,_ my mind crooned involuntarily, for which I had to castigate myself. There is no room for such thoughts at the present time, is there? 

“You can retire now, Hannah. Thank you,” St. John repeated, his tone flat but rank with assertion. 

“Aye, sir," I heard Hannah reply in haste, followed by a hushed scurrying of footsteps. I felt St. John heave a deep sigh before I felt the lurch that meant he was proceeding to ascend the staircase. I figured I wanted to let him know I was awake, that he need not carry me through two flights of stairs and exhaust himself, that I could very well walk on my own, but I had also remembered how St. John, at this very moment, had probably wanted nothing to do with me at all. My eyes stung at the thought, and it had made it all the more difficult to keep them shut.. .  . 

On what I could only guess was the upstairs landing, I felt a slight jostle and I realized my husband was taking great care to not awaken me as he shifted my weight to a different part of both his arms. I took the opportunity to get much closer to him then, leaning my cheek to where his collarbone became his chest, drinking in the familiarity of his scent that I knew lingered there most, as I continued to feign sleep. I heard a soft sigh emanate from him before he proceeded once more. 

He laid me gently onto the bed once we had entered our chambers and wordlessly proceeded to take off my shoes, one after the other. I had then decided to no longer trouble St. John with anymore of my garments and slowly opened my eyes. “St. John…” I softly called only to be distraught at his response. 

He had frozen like a statue at my feet and without emotion nor looking at me had answered quietly, “I see you’ve awoken.” 

I had no answer to that, no words to keep the nascent conversation in the air. It pained me for I knew he had chosen his words carefully. He did not wish to exchange them with me. I felt my eyes sting once more at the thought. 

“I had sent Hannah away, thinking you’d sleep through to the morning. I can call on her to undress you, if that is what you might wish,” he had continued after a short while, his face void of any emotion. Cold. Unfathomable. 

“There is no need. I think I can manage,” I replied meekly, fearing my voice might falter if I spoke too loud and betray the looming tears that I fought to hold back. He nodded his head at my reply and stood, quietly taking off his coat and undoing the buttons on his shirt. The air between us only grew even colder. 

The corset had begun to tighten as I had felt my breathing shakily start to pick up, and I had quickly reached behind me in an effort to loosen the laces. Fainting would be of no good use to either one of us here, I knew, but the laces were on too tight and had only kept on slipping between my fingers, my palms moist with nerves and sweat and desperation. 

I had grown even more distraught at this newfound inadequacy, and a sob escaped my lips, and then another, until I had realized St. John had already bridged the distance between us and had taken a place beside me. “Hush now, Jane,” he murmured, wiping away the tears I had not realized were streaming down my cheeks. “Here, let me,” he said as he proceeded to calmly take my hands off of my back and unlaced me. 

I had felt the corset start to loosen and I could breathe properly once more, and yet the tears could not stop pouring as I tried my very best to stifle my sobs. And then I had heard the laces leaving the eyelets and realized that St. John had proceeded to take the corset off – a deed I had already told him I could manage myself. 

“I think I can manage now, St. John. Thank you,” I whispered. His hands stilled behind me for a moment and then continued unlacing me quietly. I figured perhaps he had not understood what I had said for it was too restrained… “St. John –“

“Hush, Jane, please…” he murmured, his voice rank of unheard wounds. My heart bled as I could only nod my head in submission and let his hands do their work. 

Soon enough, I had sensed the corset completely freeing my torso from its confines. I let out an unsteady sigh at the welcome relief and stretched my spine, sore from the exhausting day that was about to culminate. I had then decided to let my hair down, undoing the braided bun in a stroke of a hand. Alas, I am close to the feeling of freedom. _Physically, at the very least…_  

I had then felt St. John’s hand gently brush off the hair that fell limply behind me, tucking it towards the right of my neck as he softly kissed the exposed skin on the back of my shoulder. I shuddered as I heard him let out a deep sigh. “Shall I be without you this time tomorrow?” he quietly asked, and I knew my heart had broken along with his…


	25. Surrender

“No,” my voice cracked and faltered as I had answered my husband in assurance, however fearing he might not fully believe my words. My eyes stung as they brimmed with tears once more, never fully recovering from the earlier downpour. He has to believe me, I thought in anguish. I turned to look at him then, to ensure that he knew the following testimonial would come from my heart, my soul. “Never, St. John, whilst I still live.”

I witnessed his eyes soften at my emotional declaration and I had felt the need to hold him, comfort him, make him believe that I had meant every word. I cupped his face between my shaking hands and stroked his cheeks gently with my thumbs. I felt him lean minutely towards my touch, and I knew he had refrained from responding too much. It was as though my heart was being squeezed slowly and wretchedly at his response, that of someone weary. I watched his forehead crease in confusion and I would have gladly kissed those creases away if I knew I could…

“I had never fully realized this until recently, St. John, and I might just have been as confused as you definitely are at this moment. But I love you… and you are everything to me,” I said quietly. “You will never be without me, if after my past had crept between us, you would still have me…”

The words hung in the air for a long while. St. John was quiet, and he had grown even more quiet and cold at what I had just said, if that were even remotely possible. He took hold of my trembling hands and slowly lowered them back to my lap, keeping them there with both his hands. This gesture disturbed me most deeply for he had always cherished my touch… but I took the smallest of hopes that his hands never leaving mine had offered.

“Please tell me of your woes, St. John, that I might appease them,” I pleaded after a while had passed and I had sensed his hands about to leave mine. I had clutched on them tightly instead, realizing my own hands were sweaty and disgusting to him; I would not allow him to break contact for I feared I might ultimately lose him this time.

He looked at me intently, again as one would look at a book written in a foreign tongue. It seemed as though he was inwardly battling himself with something, and a couple times it had appeared as though he might speak. And yet no words came from his end of the spectrum…

I grew even more desperate. His palms clutched tightly between my own had suddenly gone limp, as though he wanted to take them away from me but he was too tired to even put up a fight. I pulled him towards my figure for want of catching his now evasive eyes, of forcing them to see me again. His Jane. Only his…

“I do hate seeing you like this, Jane,” he said quietly at last, his one hand slowly wiggling free from mine. “I hate causing you much torment.” He delicately touched the peak of my chin and gently traced my jaw.

“I have done a great deal more of that to you…” I answered, closing my eyes and leaning into his touch. This… this is what I want…

“I have forced you into this marriage, that much I accept,” he said, more to himself than anyone else, and it had broken my heart. I had never thought of our marriage being forceful! I took on it wholeheartedly, hadn’t I? And three weeks into the marriage, I had been wondering why I never said yes to him sooner. I now realize I have loved him longer than I had been prepared to admit…

“No, please, St. John,” I pleaded. For what, I did not fully understand myself. For mercy? For a second chance? For him to hear me… “I love you.”

“I believed that, too,” he replied, his lips forming a bitter smile that shattered my soul. “But it was never about love with you, Jane, I understand this now. I had long convinced myself to see it otherwise, to make you see it otherwise. But, Rochester – he’s the one you want.”

“No, please, I love you…” I sobbed, wishing I could make him hear me. But it only seemed that the words never took root, as though they meant nothing to him now when it had meant everything to me. 

He smiled his bitter smile once more, and his blue eyes had clouded with tears. “I loved the moment I heard you say those words… and yet –” he hesitated, and my eyes urged him to go on. “– they were never true, not the way I had selfishly wanted them to be.”

“Listen to me, St. John, please… I love you!” I pleaded once more. He wouldn’t hear me. He had chosen not to. Not anymore. I could feel him slipping away from my grasp. I could sense him yielding, and I could not let that happen. Not for this… I would never forgive myself if I had lost him for this…

I lunged towards his frame and clung to his nape, bringing myself forcefully into his presence. I looked up at him to see his astonished expression – something that was between surprise and disgust that I could not clearly distinguish, nor did I have a care to know. I had to make him see reason, and if not through words, then through action…


End file.
